


not my old hard-pressed grin, but his own smile

by Teland



Category: DCU (Comics), The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Banter, Biting, Bondage, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Talk, Dogboys & Doggirls, Established Relationship, First Time, Found Family, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Kink Negotiation, Knotting, LGBTQ Character of Color, M/M, Magic, Married Couple, Multi, Oral Sex, POV Character of Color, Polyamory, Prostitution, Pseudo-Incest, Rimming, Romance, Rough Oral Sex, Sex Toys, Telepathy, Threesome m/m/m, blood-drinking, polyamory negotiation, soulbond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 04:10:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 45,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7559572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What *are* we doing, amant...?"  </p><p>"Well, I was planning on a *bit* of carousing..."  </p><p>"A bit...?"  </p><p>"Perhaps a trifle —"  </p><p>"Hmm," Jason says, and taps his lip thoughtfully. "Might there be a hint of *whoring* in your plans?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Some enchanted evening...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [naughtypixie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/naughtypixie/gifts).



> Disclaimers: Nothing here is mine, except for what is. 
> 
> Spoilers/Timeline: AU-ized mentions of various storylines. Takes place pre-series.
> 
> Author's Note: I no longer remember where the bunny for this one came from, but it's a safe bet that Pixie was involved, ahahaha. Seriously, though — this was started before the various revelations of S3, so don't expect any kind of *direct* compliance there. Also, this *really* wasn't the story I intended to finish first... but times are still kind of rough over here, and I'm just glad to have finished *anything*. 
> 
> Acknowledgments: Absolutely nothing over here gets done without a crowd of well-wishers, helpers, cheerleaders, and nannies. *Heartfelt* thanks go to Pixie, Spice, Melly, Houndstar, Sergei, Greyandgold, and, of course, my Jack for everything they do to keep this cart rolling.

Treville isn't where he's supposed to be — that's the first beautiful thing about this cold, damp bastard of an autumn night. 

He's *supposed* to be cooped up in that little prison — pardon, *office* — making yet another fruitless attempt to balance the Musketeers' budget. Laurent had never complained about this when *he* was the Captain, but, well, he's Laurent, and complaining about things isn't *correct*. 

Neither is this. 

Treville smiles, and the spring in his step gets that much jauntier. 

Jason hums at his side. 

*He's* not supposed to be here, either — that's the second beautiful thing about this night. 

Treville doesn't *always* know what Jason Blood does with his literally endless time, but he knows that the man owes half of it to the demon taking up residence in his soul. Jason had bargained with the creature, on Treville's request, to change nights with him. 

Treville may start humming soon — 

"Really." 

"Jason, I haven't had a night to myself — to *be* myself..." Treville shakes himself like the dog he absolutely is. "You know exactly how long." 

Jason *looks* at him. "You *didn't* have to take —" 

Treville raises a hand. "I did. There was no one else who could." 

There's a silence then, and they both know it's filled with all the ways Jason wants Treville at his side more often — possibly even all the time. 

All the ways Treville could be fighting the left-handed war full *time*, as opposed to whenever — 

Well, that's just it. It's *not* 'whenever Laurent lets him off the lead' anymore. 

It's when he lets *himself* off the lead. 

And, as of yet, he hasn't been very good at doing that. 

Jason doesn't make a sound, but he makes it *very* loudly. 

Treville grunts. "Noted. *But* — we're not fighting any wars tonight," he says, and grins again, and turns round, walking backwards like the boy he isn't anymore. 

Jason laughs softly, honestly amused, honestly charmed — and letting him see it by the way that gorgeous long, dark, red hair just *happens* to fall out of its tie. "What *are* we doing, amant...?" 

"Well, I was planning on a *bit* of carousing..." 

"A bit...?" 

"Perhaps a trifle —" 

"Hmm," Jason says, and taps his lip thoughtfully. "Might there be a hint of *whoring* in your plans?" 

"Mayhap a *touch* —"

"And where would that touch land?" 

Treville lolls his tongue — just for a moment. He's glamoured to be slightly less recognizable, but this is, still, a public thoroughfare. 

Jason grins and shakes his head. "Tease." 

"You take that *back* —" 

"Amant — the alley to the northwest —" And Jason is already gathering his power, so Treville does the same as he turns — 

And sees a large drunk of an arsehole getting ready to strike a butcher's boy for what looks to be the third or fourth time. There are too many people for them to use their magic *obviously* — 

There are too many people in the *way* — 

And then *one* of the people — a young, pretty, *painted* boy who can't be more than sixteen — slips up behind the drunk man and *hamstrings* him. 

"Oh, *my*." 

Treville keeps trying to push through the uncaring crush, Jason at his *heels* — 

And the drunk has *just* enough time to get out a *fraction* of a scream before the painted boy is reaching up to slash his throat in a smooth, practiced move that leaves his clothes and person utterly clear of the arterial spray. 

The butcher's boy isn't so lucky — but the *painted* boy puts the dead man's purse in his hand and shoves him deeper into the alleys. And then the painted boy wipes his blade clean and runs, nimble and quick, right into *one* of the brothels Treville was considering visiting tonight. 

Well, then. 

"Hmm. I think our plans for the night have just coalesced *nicely*," Jason says. 

"I might just want to buy him a drink." 

Jason looks at him. 

Treville doesn't have to look at Jason to know that he's doing it; it's a very loud look. He lolls his tongue again. 

"The fact that we're still standing here does *nothing* to change the fact that that tongue *will* be up that boy's arse within the hour," Jason says. 

Treville licks a portion of his face. "That it doesn't. Onward."


	2. The best-laid plans of dogs and immortals...

The third beautiful thing about the night is that Tristan — the proprietor of the establishment in question — has a *profound* lack of fondness for their boy, whose chosen name is Aramis. 

Oh, he tries to pretend otherwise — it's bad for business not to — but it would be even worse for business for the proprietor of an establishment like this one *not* to try to guide two finely-dressed and armed men with fat purses away from a 'mouthy and difficult' troublemaker. 

Once upon a time, Treville could visit Tristan's without the glamour, and Tristan would *know* that a mouthy and difficult little bastard was right up his alley. 

But he's the Captain now, and — 

And he has to be convincing in ways *Treville* wouldn't be.

This is not a beautiful thing. 

This is a *tiring* thing — 

This is like being back in that *box* — 

Jason clears his throat. "Tristan, if I may?" 

"Oh, of *course*, sir! Forgive me, people always say I do go on," Tristan says, and titters demurely. 

Jason smiles politely. "Never that. My companion and I respect and appreciate your desire to make certain that we have a pleasurable evening —" 

"That is *precisely* —" 

"*But*," Jason says, "One of the ways we *take* our pleasure is by... taming the difficult, if you follow my meaning." And Jason strokes the pregnant curve of his purse. 

Tristan blinks, and very clearly calculates Aramis's worth to him as a daily earner versus the potential repeat business of two wealthy strangers willing to spend large amounts of money for their violent fixations. 

It's nothing new, but Treville is still a little sick. He's used to Tristan taking better care of his boys and men than this, and it's all too — 

"It would... cost, Monsieur," Tristan says. 

"All fine things do," Jason says, smoothly, and begins counting out coins. 

Tristan actually stops him. 

Jason and Treville *both* raise eyebrows. 

"Messieurs. We all know that if you damage the boy too much..." And Tristan shrugs, but there's a fine sheen of sweat slicking him up under his powder. 

Treville narrows his eyes. 

(Watch your gleam, amant —) 

I'm going to tear him apart, Treville says, quite calmly, really. "*If* that happens, we will buy him. Simple as that." 

"I am not certain you have enough money —"

"Yes. You are," Treville says — it comes out growled, but this -— he can't regret the growl. He can't. 

Tristan's eyes are wide and *nearly* as frightened as they should be. He knows he has killers in his house, but he still thinks *he* isn't the target. 

He'll learn. 

Jason clears his throat again — 

Tristan jumps and squeaks — 

And they finish their transaction while Tristan signals to two burly guards — *not* Hercule, the ex-Army long-gunner who's now looking *worried* — 

They start hustling Aramis up the stairs. 

They — 

"Is that *necessary*, Tristan?" 

Tristan shrugs at him. "Aramis, he is not above running off for hours if he sees I have procured for him a client he doesn't care —" 

"*Fuck* this," Treville says, and rips his purse off his belt, dropping it on the table. "He's ours now. Take your purse back, Jason." 

Jason does so without a word, and then braces Tristan while Treville heads upstairs at speed. It's not hard to follow the scents of fear and pain — usually *absent* in this brothel — and — 

There. 

*That* closed door, and Tristan's bully-boys have decided to get in a few bruises while they have free rein to do so. 

Aramis — is just taking it. 

He thinks he doesn't have any choices. He — 

He'll know better, after tonight. 

Treville augments his strength and throws the first tough across the room — he smacks the wall head-first and stays down. Unsatisfying, but at least *quick*. 

The second tough attacks, clumsy and slow — he never could've been a soldier — 

Aramis is watching very closely, indeed — 

Good. 

Treville dodges the man's sloppy roundhouse and sloppier uppercut, kicks his legs out from under him, stomps on his bollocks, stomps on his left ribs, and stomps on his face for good measure. 

There. 

He steps back, then, and bows. "Would you care to provide the finishing touches?" 

Aramis, painted and pretty Aramis, whose eyes are yellow-brown and whose hair falls to his shoulders in chestnut waves, tilts his head to the side and says. "Will it harden your cock if I do, M'sieu?" 

A touch of Spain in the accent, which is — well. No more interesting than the rest of that. Treville grins. "Yes." 

Aramis makes a show of studying the rising bruises on his arms. "I do not know if I want your cock so hard." 

Treville barks a laugh. "Then I'll have to be convincing. For now, why don't you gather your things from wherever they are and scrub off some of that paint? I've just bought you." 

Aramis stiffens — but only for a moment. And then he looks up at Treville from under his long lashes. "It angered you to have your property... molested?" 

Treville shows his teeth. "It angered me that a brothel I *thought* was run smoothly, sanely, and humanely was willing to sell me a boy to *abuse* for a night — if the boy was mouthy enough, and if my purse was fat enough." 

Aramis shrugs. "It is a brothel, not a *salon*."

Well, well. Treville leans back against the wall, giving Aramis plenty of room, and says, "And yet you're not very marked-up. Or are you? Under those clothes?" 

Aramis *flushes* — this is a sore point. 

Treville nods. "As an aside, you're not going to have to worry about that with me." 

The dismissal of that promise is written all over Aramis's beautiful face. He'll need time and room to believe it. For now...

"We saw you tonight —" 

"Of course you —"

"My lover Jason pointed out the drunken arsehole slapping the shit out of the butcher's boy in the alley..." 

Aramis's eyes widen — but, again, only for a moment before he narrows them *hotly*. "And this is why you asked Tristan if you could damage his property?" 

"No. It's why we walked in here looking for you, and had to spend altogether too much time and energy trying to *convince* Tristan that, yes, we really wanted *you*. Jason tried the tack that we liked taming our whores, since I was too tired and stymied by my position to point out that Tristan already *knew* that you were exactly my type." 

Aramis frowns, sitting on his heels. "Your... position? And what do you mean — I have never seen you here!" 

"No, *you* haven't. But I've been here," Treville says, and drops his glamour for a five-count.

Aramis gasps and rears back — but then leans forward eagerly, studying him and staring and — "You're a *Musketeer*!" 

Treville raises his finger to his smiling lips. 

"You're —" Aramis lowers his voice. "You're the Musketeer who *comes* here, Jean-Armand du Peyrer de Treville, the noble, the — you cannot buy a *boy*!" 

"I can and I did —" 

"Am I to be your *slave*? Your fellow gentry will tell many tales about the noble and his pretty boy —" 

"They won't be tales that haven't been told before," Treville says, gently. "How are you?" 

Aramis blinks. "What?" 

"You killed a man less than an hour ago. You've taken a beating. You've been informed that you were sold to a stranger — a nobleman — who is a witch. How are you?" 

Aramis pants once — 

Twice —

Shudders *hard* — 

Treville nods and moves off the wall — 

And then Aramis lifts his chin and blazes at him. "I have killed before. I have taken *many* beatings before. I have been *sold* before. I do not — I do not know the *ways* of witches, but I *will* before *long*. I assure you, M'sieu, I am *well*." 

Treville stops *right* in his tracks — and growls. 

Aramis narrows his eyes. 

Treville *stops* growling — and raises his hands. "I wasn't growling to threaten." 

"Then *why*." 

"You really *are* mouthy," Treville says, and grins. 

"Perhaps you will enjoy the *attempt* to beat it out of me?" 

"Never that," Treville says. "I growled because I love a man — and a boy — with a backbone. And yours is made of steel." 

Aramis gives him a suspicious look — 

Treville rumbles. "Let me take you out of here. My lover is waiting downstairs — hmm. Do you ride?" 

Aramis blinks. "Yes. Why?" 

"We'll hire you a horse of your own if you give me your word as a young man of honour that you won't try to run before we've had a chance to properly make your acquaintance." 

Aramis lifts his chin. "How will you know that I won't *lie*." 

"Ah, son, I'd *like* to say that I would just trust you... but. I'm an earth-mage. We're *exceedingly* difficult to lie to convincingly." 

Aramis blinks again.

*Obviously* looks over his options in his mind — 

Obviously finds them *wanting* — 

He frowns and looks down, but only for a moment before looking right back up again. "I will not run... until you and your lover have both had the chance to *talk* to me for some time." 

Treville grins. "Thank you. Now let's get that paint off."

"You do not care for your boys to be painted and powdered? Or you do not care to be *seen* caring for that?" 

Treville laughs and checks the temperature of the water by the fireplace — good enough. "The latter, for the moment. We're going to my manor, Aramis, and while my retainers have seen and heard all sorts of things over the years, I do try not to make them suffer unduly."

Aramis flushes under his paint and finally moves from the bed. "*I* told Tristan that the paint was too much —" 

"It's not unattractive —" 

"*I* told Tristan to let me do my *own* paint," Aramis says, and begins to scrub himself clean. "I would make it *subtle*, fresh, beautiful, *enhancing*," he says, and he's muffled by the rag. "The raddled old procurer has no sense of *art*." 

Treville grins. "And you do?" 

Aramis *looks* at him. 

(I adore him,) Jason says. 

As do I. 

(I *noticed*...) 

Yes, and — 

(The horses are on their way as we speak, amant. Did you also notice his... spark, shall we say?) 

Treville blinks — and narrows his eyes. 

Aramis narrows his own. "What is it? What is the problem?" 

"You say you don't know the ways of witches..." 

"I do not! And if you can truly read the truth of a person —" 

Treville raises a hand — "I can. But..." Treville flares his nostrils, reaches, just a little — 

And yes, there it is. 

What he hadn't noticed with the *front* of his mind because it's spirit-magery, and thus different enough from his own sort to be a bit invisible, but what a part of him had absolutely felt, and noted, and sniffed right after. 

"But *what*," Aramis says, and he's stopped scrubbing. He is *more* incensed — more *truly* incensed — than he's been since Treville had first seen him, and — 

And, how do you go about having this talk with someone, anyway? 

(In my experience? You just do it.) 

Oh, *thank* you. Treville smiles wryly. "When you make an effort — any effort at all — do you find that people are easy to *convince* to go your way?" 

Aramis frowns. "What — what does that have to do with —" 

"Answer the question, please." 

Aramis shows his teeth. "Sometimes people are no better than *sheep*." 

"Very true. And when you've wanted people to... think about you —" 

"There are many ways to make that *happen* —" 

"And when you've wanted people to fixate on darker things, to lose themselves to their nightmares for a time...?" 

Aramis blinks again, expression going blank as he very clearly looks at a memory he doesn't much like. 

Treville nods. "Did it last, son? Did it last longer than you wanted it to?" 

"I — I don't know what you're saying —" 

"But you do. Don't hide from it." 

Aramis's teeth shut with a click, and he looks up into Treville's eyes with his own wide ones. 

"It's all right. We all make mistakes when we're young — especially when we're young and untrained." 

"He — he woke up screaming from his nightmares for months!" 

Treville winces and nods. "You're a spirit-mage. Even the weakest of those can do a great, great deal of damage with just a little effort, and... we both know you're not weak. Don't we." 

Aramis swallows. "I do not want —" 

"Stop right there." 

Aramis snarls —"I will do what I please!" 

"If you do, you just might have the spheres balance themselves right on your arse because you weren't *careful*, son," Treville says. 

"What — what?" 

"Listen carefully: Magic is about balance. The wisest among us work to keep the scales balanced at all times, so that we're not continuously rocked by the spheres — everything that makes up everything there *is* — doing the balancing *for* us. So we try especially not do great harm, not to *increase* the harm in the spheres. We try to fix imbalances, and right wrongs —" 

"I am being punished for hurting Jean-Pierre," Aramis says, matter-of-fact and flat. 

(Don't let him —) 

Got it. "Don't think of it as punishment," Treville says, and gently cups Aramis's shoulder through his shirt. 

Aramis eyes Treville's hand — 

Raises an eyebrow at him — 

Raises it *high* — 

Treville laughs softly and moves his hand. "Don't think of it as punishment. It's a matter of balance. I don't know Jean-Pierre, or what he did to you to make you lash out at him, or what his dreams looked like when you were done with them. I don't know how and why you wound up here. But the scales find a way of balancing themselves, and I promise you that, if you let me, I will give you a better life." 

Aramis gives him another look for that, and doesn't say a word before he finishes scrubbing his face. 

(Your charms are failing you, amant...) 

I love a challenge. The horses? 

(Arriving as we speak. They've been cared for well enough for *my* tastes, even.) 

Shit. Did you *actually* make Tristan piss himself?

(Well... yes.) 

I love you. 

(I also left a shadow around his throat which will periodically strangle him *blue*...) 

And make him shit himself? 

(Bien sûr.) 

I love you madly. 

(I may know one or *two* things about what you like, amant...) 

Treville grins — and finds Aramis staring at him suspiciously. Treville winks at him — 

Aramis looks affronted — and smells *curious*. 

Well, now. 

(Will you make him wait, amant?) 

A boy like this? Absolutely not. "I was talking to my lover, Aramis. Just now, and a few moments ago." 

Aramis frowns. "Silently? From a distance?" 

Treville hums and nods. "He's a blood-mage — among other things — and I have a touch of blood-magery to me. We're able to make ourselves... kin with whomever we wish, with a bit of effort and shared blood." 

Aramis licks his lips. "He... can see all your thoughts? And you can see his?" 

Treville inclines his head. "Though we do give each other privacy, from time to time. We're forced to spend more time apart than together, and Jason's soul is not always his own." 

"What does *that* mean?" 

Treville grins. "He'll tell you that himself. Come, let's get something warm for you. Where's your cloak?" 

Aramis's cloak is only barely adequate for the weather, but Tristan — pissy, pissy Tristan — is happy to donate another for the cause. And any number of other things to speed Aramis on his way in wealth and comfort. 

Jason still doesn't remove the shadow. 

Jason does, in fact, tighten it while they're still in earshot — at least while Treville is — and the gurgling and wheezing and rattling are balm to his soul. 

He can't tell if he's smelling Tristan's shit over everything else on these streets, though. 

Shame about that. 

Aramis is riding Alain, a slightly overweight and clearly sweet-natured gelding. Though...

Considering the treatment Alain is *getting* from Aramis...

The petting, the cosseting, the low-voiced purrs in Latin and French — 

Alain steps a little lively, which Aramis handles with the aplomb of a natural horseman — and a *bright* smile on his face, which looks both older *and* younger without all the paint and powder.

A part of Treville is only putting an arquebusier in those deft hands...

The same part is demanding that Treville start *quizzing* Aramis right *now* about his fitness for active duty starting *immediately* — 

(But it's not your turn, amant...)

Thank everything holy for that, Treville says, and shoves The Captain under a rock. 

"Aramis," Jason says, quietly *commanding* attention — 

Aramis stiffens — 

Alain whickers — 

Aramis coos and murmurs to him, relaxing himself immediately. After a *long* moment: "Yes, M'sieu?" 

"Please, call me —" 

"I will call you M'sieu until I decide otherwise," Aramis says, haughty and sharp. 

Jason laughs brightly. "As you *will*. Perhaps you'll tell us where you're from?" 

"The mountains, near the border. *Treville* can tell this by my voice." 

"You won't be more specific...?" 

Aramis spits to the side. "I have nothing to do with that place. It is nothing of *me*." 

Another piece to the puzzle, then. 

(Indeed.) "Then I'll leave it," Jason says, and ties his hair back with a shadow.

Treville knows they can both smell Aramis's curiosity for that — 

Jason grins. "The shadows are an aspect of my magic — and magic that isn't quite mine." 

"What does that mean? What does it mean that your soul isn't always yours?" 

"Approximately six hundred years ago — it *might* be closer to seven hundred now; I've long since lost count —" 

"What —" 

"Another witch — my lover and a very powerful spirit-mage — bound my soul irrevocably to that of a powerful fire demon. The demon was supposed to kill me and take over — and be bound and beholden to my lover — but we made pact with each other, instead, and tore her apart," Jason says, and is quiet for a moment. 

Are you — 

(I'm not all right. But... it does get easier to talk about this with practice. That's one of the reasons I'm not all right.) 

Oh, lover... 

Jason smiles at him wryly — and then turns back to Aramis. "Over the years, I've done a great deal of studying on the matter. Apparently, any number of people manage quite well with more than one soul inhabiting a single body. Etrigan — the demon — and I did not. Not for a very, very long time. We warred on each other constantly and viciously for over a century, and, in so doing, created a third being which exists between us." And then Jason raises an eyebrow in the gloom. 

Aramis blinks. "Do you mean to *teach* me, M'sieu?" 

"Yes," Jason says, quiet and simple.

Aramis flushes. — "I haven't decided if you —" 

"I will teach you whether you wish me to or not, Aramis," Jason says. "The only question, here, is how much time the lessons will take." 

"I am *not* a slow student!" 

All of their horses complain a bit for that — 

"Oh — oh, no —" And Aramis immediately calms himself again and begins cooing to Alain, petting and soothing as if the greatest crime in the world is to upset a horse. 

(They've done nothing to harm *us*, amant.) 

I know — 

(Horses *never* lie.) 

I'd noticed — 

(They're wonderful judges of character,) Jason says, and nods to where Alain is stepping lively for Aramis again, just that fast. 

He'll take those extra pounds off fast if Aramis keeps riding him — 

(A few extra pounds on a horse isn't a terrible thing —) 

We're visiting your stables after this, and you're spending the whole bloody time cooing and currying and kissing up to your forty-seven — 

(There are only forty-three —) 

— overweight horses until you can have a conversation again.

(... are you implying something, amant?) 

Absolutely not. Don't know the meaning of the word. Certainly don't know how to spell — 

"I am sorry for overreacting and spooking the horses," Aramis says in a quiet, subdued voice.

(I like him better than you,) Jason says. "Apology accepted. You felt I was maligning your intelligence, correct?" 

Aramis flushes again and nods. "I... do not care for this thing." 

"People rarely do," Jason says, and grins. "Though..." 

Aramis gives him a hot look. 

Jason gives Aramis a *sly* smile. "The *most* intelligent people of my acquaintance rarely turn down teaching when it's offered to them." 

Aramis bares his teeth — but only for a moment before he subsides with somewhat bad grace. "Your... third being." 

"Yes, Aramis?" 

"It is the being of shadows, yes? The being that controls the shadow in your hair, and the one you were strangling Tristan with." 

"Yes and no — very good." 

Aramis sniffs. "You made the lesson purposefully simple. Now tell me what I was wrong about." 

"Absolutely," Jason says, and leads them toward the country roads. "*I* control the shadows — perhaps at the shadow-being's allowance, perhaps because the shadow-being is incapable of it. Neither Etrigan nor I are capable of communicating with the shadow-being, though *I* am capable of taking on a form... close to his own." 

"You know that the being is male?" 

"It seems clear enough. Though I *could* be wrong. When dealing with the numinous, perfect surety is an illusion — and one which *will* get you into very bad trouble very *quickly*, Aramis." 

"In all things?" 

"In *all* things." 

"Even the thoughts you share with your lover?" 

Treville grunts a laugh — 

And Jason grins. "There's nothing numinous about that." 

"But —" 

"Once we *shared* blood, we *became* blood, son," Treville says, and lifts his nose — there are deer close, and his dog wants to hunt, and hunt with *Aramis*, even though he has no *idea* if he even *likes* that — 

Jason strokes him inside. "We are blood of each *other's* blood, Aramis, and there is nothing more *solid* than that. Mon amant rather gave me a touch of *earthiness* to go with everything else. Or perhaps he's simply the ground beneath my feet." 

"That — that sounds like *love* poetry." 

"Mm. I haven't been reading the right books," Treville says, and grins. 

"No — I meant — you know what I meant!" 

"We truly did," Jason says, in a soothing voice. "Let me try to say it another way: The numinous is quite often fragile by definition. What you did to your Jean-Pierre could've been broken with a bit of will — or the lack of it — but some part of you demanded that he continue to suffer —" 

"No —" 

"I'm afraid that's how it works," Jason says, and *looks* at Aramis. 

Aramis looks back and forth between them *bleakly*. 

Treville forces himself not to reach out. "He hurt you badly, didn't he, son." 

"I — I —" 

"He *injured* you." 

"I will not talk about this. I will *not*," Aramis says, obviously straining to keep his voice low and relatively calm for the sake of the horses. 

Treville winces. "As you will. Jason —" 

"Yes," Jason says. "The only thing that can break the connection — the *kinship* — between Treville and myself is the will of a god, and there aren't very *many* gods who would deign to meddle that way." 

Aramis inhales sharply — 

And blinks — 

And *blinks* — 

They give him time. 

Treville wonders what he's earning for himself by wishing still more screaming night terrors on a boy he's never likely to meet — 

(*Undoubtedly* something absolutely fascinating. Do share immediately.) 

Treville snorts — 

"What..." But Aramis just swallows, and doesn't finish. 

More time, then. The boy has earned it and then some. 

Treville pulls a bottle of wine from his saddlebag and has a pull, then offers it to Aramis, who sips politely — and then takes a long, long, *long* drink. 

That's more like it. 

He then hands the bottle to Jason, and turns to *him*. "You drink good wine, M'sieu." 

Treville grins and tips his hat. "I'm not allowed to drink swill anymore, now that I'm the *Captain* of the King's Musketeers." 

And there's a little, little pause there — "You — did you *wish* to?" 

Treville licks his lips. He *wishes* to know more about that pause. But. "A man gets a taste for a vinegary tang to his wine —" 

Jason leans over and whispers, loudly, "He stole his cook from the garrison. You're going to want to eat out as often as possible." 

Aramis blinks *again* — "But — he's a *lord*!" 

"Ask yourself, Aramis. Does he *remotely* act like one?" 

Aramis looks at *him* again — but only for a moment before a look of horror steals over his face. "What do you even *do* when you must — must *present* yourself?" 

"Well. I do bathe." 

Jason mutters something that sounds suspiciously like 'sometimes'. 

Treville snorts and winks at Aramis again. "I'm a soldier, and a spy, and a witch, and a brother, and a lover. I'm good at those things. I'm not much good at very many others." 

"He really doesn't apply himself, at *all*," Jason says — 

"Says the man who's been doing *nothing* but soldiering for bloody six centuries." 

"Well. There's also been some whoring. And teaching." 

"And wallowing in insurmountable guilt?" 

"And wallowing, yes," Jason says, and shows his teeth a bit before he grins — and grins at Aramis. "We are... somewhat limited in our purview, Aramis." 

"*I* am not." 

"No? What *is* your purview?" And Jason raises his eyebrows. 

For a moment, Aramis looks like he won't answer, at all. 

And then he flushes again — 

Strokes through Alain's mane — 

Shudders *hard* — 

"We can try a different question, son," Treville says, gently. 

Aramis eyes him keenly. "What do you want from me?" 

Everything. Absolutely bloody — "Do you shoot? Have you ever used a sword? How would you like to be a soldier someday?" 

Aramis gives him a dumbfounded look. 

"That," Jason says, "is *one* of the things Treville wants from you. *I* would very much like to see what can be done with your potential. Your *magery*. I've trained spirit-witches before, and I can make you a very powerful one — who never loses his control." 

"Seducer," Treville says, and scratches his beard. "I'm a shifter, too. Have you heard the term?" 

"N-no, M'sieu..." 

Treville shifts his muzzle. Just that, but he can feel the dog straining to come out, straining to run beside the horses, straining to run into the woods and lure the good-smelling boy with him, yes, hunt, they will hunt, they — 

Treville growls and shakes and shifts *back* — 

His horse — Helene — doesn't appreciate it one *bit* — 

He rumbles and soothes her, rumbles and pets — 

Aramis makes a small, small sound —

"Mon amant hasn't let his dog out in quite some time, due to the constraints of his duties — or what he feels to be those constraints. The dog is somewhat eager." 

"And eager for *you*," Treville says, when he's got a little control of both himself and Helene. 

"What... what does that..." And Aramis swallows and looks back and forth at both of them. 

"Right *now*, it means that my dog wants to run with you, and play, and hunt down the surprisingly fat deer he can smell creeping close to the city. Do you like to hunt?" 

"I — I am very good at it! I used to hunt for many families in my village, but — I don't — what *else*?" 

Treville rumbles with pleasure. "At other times, my dog will just want to curl up with you, and have you pet him. He especially likes having his ears scratched."

Aramis coughs a *laugh* — 

Treville *grins* — 

And Jason grins, too. "I'd like to make you kin to both of us, but, I must confess, especially to me —" 

"Greedy," Treville says.

"Fathomlessly so," Jason says, and turns to Aramis. "As it stands, the many curses wound through my soul would make it impossible for you to so much as touch my hand without recoiling in atavistic loathing. It wouldn't be quite as bad for you as it would be for an earth-mage I wasn't kin to, *but*. I would like to *touch* you, and touch your *thoughts*, and have you touch *mine* — and know my honesty the way we can know yours. It would make things simpler in many ways." 

Aramis inhales with a shudder — 

"If you chose that," Treville says, "You *would* also be kin to me. Blood of my blood. My *own* — until a god chose to tear us apart." 

"And. I would hear all of your thoughts? And... your dog's thoughts?" 

Is that hunger he smells? But trust a spirit-mage to be attracted most to *this* part — "My dog *mostly* 'thinks' in scents and emotions, but, yes, you would." 

"What — what do you *want*? What do I *pay*?" 

"You're thinking of the fact that we came to Tristan's to buy you for the night. For *sex*," Jason says. 

"How can I *not*? What — what is it that you — what kind of sex will you demand? Hm? And you — and your dog?" 

Treville *coughs* — "Son —" 

"*Tell* me!" 

"There is no payment but your hard work, Aramis," Jason says. "I do not fuck my students — in *any* way — until they *ask* for it. Not ever," Jason says. "I promise you that on the blood of my mothers." 

Aramis *grunts* — 

"And the Captain of the King's Musketeers is not in the way of buggering recruits," Treville says. "It's not on. Which is not to say that we both wouldn't dearly *love* to make love with you —" 

"For hours —" 

"*Daily* —" 

"In exceedingly deviant ways," Jason says, and dances a shadow over his fingertips. 

"*But*. If you go with us, you *go* with us," Treville says. "We're not rapists. Everything is your choice." 

"You *bought* me!" 

Treville lets his smile turn rueful. "It was clear you were property Tristan didn't value, son. The next rich deviant to walk in that place with an eye for pretty, mouthy boys would've hurt you badly, with Tristan's eager permission. I — *we* — had to get you out of there." 

"And if I was not — not — if my *purview* was not so broad?" 

"There's always a place for strong, healthy boys at the garrison, son. And if you chose to run away again after... well, then, at least I would have saved you for a little while." 

"You are *profligate* with your money!" 

Jason hums. "Perhaps you'll teach him better." 

Aramis flushes, quiet at once — and then he whirls on Jason. "Why haven't *you*?" 

Jason grins. "Because I like the way he spends his money, when he — rarely, truly — does. He covers his friends and lovers in comforts and luxuries and everything he can find to make them happy... and is there any finer thing?" 

"He has lovers other than you?" 

Jason nods to him. 

"I have *brothers*, son. Lieutenants in the Musketeers, and the retired former Captain. Kitos and Reynard — the Lieutenants — would be giving you the lion's share of your training, if you take my offer. Laurent — the former Captain — will train you when you're very, very lucky, indeed, because even though he's in his late forties, he's still an incredible swordsman. We all spent our twenties being regularly humiliated by him." 

"But they are all your *lovers*?" 

"Yes —" 

Jason clears his throat — 

"And also Laurent's wife, Marie-Angelique — " 

Jason clears his throat *again* — 

"*What* — oh. They're my pack, with Jason." 

"Your..." Aramis blinks. "Are *they* all dogs?" 

Jason laughs filthily. "No, but Reynard is *very* fond of *Treville's* dog. You'll like him. He's mad and wild and violent, just like you — at heart." 

"I am affronted!" 

"What you are," Jason says, "is annoyed at being seen for who and what you are. But don't be too put out — I have six hundred years of experience at this," Jason says, and grins at him. 

Aramis grunts — "You — you have both been *playing* with me. And — and *lying* —" 

"We've told you no lies, son. You know that, deep down. And you also know how to know it all through yourself now." 

Aramis *pants* — 

Alain is growing agitated again — 

And, this time, Aramis is clearly calming *himself* down by soothing the horse. 

They've all done the same thing once or twice or a thousand times over the years. 

(And yet you don't understand how noble horses are.) 

When you leave me for a particularly belligerent pony with earth-mage powers, I'm going to be very sad. But not surprised.

(The sheer number of goats you can go bugger —) 

"I... shoot," Aramis says, quietly."I shoot very well with both pistols and muskets. I almost never miss my mark, and I *never* miss the *target*." 

Treville blinks — and grins. "Oh, *son*." 

"Do you want a son." 

(Well, well...) 

"I —" 

"Yes or no!" 

Treville licks his lips. "I'm thirty-eight years old. You're... sixteen?" 

"In a month."

"That word tends to slip out —" 

Jason *looks* at him — 

Aramis *glares* at him — 

"— and I'm not going to tell you a lie," Treville says, and scrubs a hand down over his face. "Ah, fuck, I'm — yes, I do want a son. Yes, I do want *you* to be my son. As far as I'm concerned, from everything you've shown me, any man who *doesn't* want to have you as their son — whether or not they also want to fuck you blind — has something badly wrong with him." 

Aramis is silent for long moments. 

They ride. 

They ride, and Treville's face is *burning* — 

He's never — 

(You've never said it that plainly before...?) 

In the back of his mind, there's a fat, brown babe on his chest who doesn't have a name, yet. He's crying his lungs out, and his laughing mother is lying in the bed beside Treville, daring him to put up with it — as if there was anything he'd rather do. 

They've been gone — without any traces even Jason could find — for fourteen years now, and there's a hole in his heart which has never, ever healed. 

And he knows that's not where the need started, the need to *have* a son of his own, but — 

It's where it became a wolf in his chest, a ravening *beast* — 

Aramis is *uncomfortable* — 

(You'll tell him everything about yourself, amant —) 

*We* will — 

(We'll tell him everything. He's strong enough to understand.) 

And *accept*?

(Well... divination was never my forte.) 

Treville snorts — 

Aramis looks up — and looks back and forth between them. "You... were speaking again?" 

"Yes, Aramis," Jason says. "Mostly about the family Treville lost while you were still an infant." 

"Oh..." Aramis swallows. "They died?"

Treville smiles, and knows it's twisted on his face. "My Amina-love died nine years ago. I felt that, even though I never saw her until after she was already dead. I was led to her body by... someone. I don't know who. Someone kind. I don't know where the babe is. He could be... anywhere. I know he's still alive." 

"They left you?" 

"The babe's blood-father — a Belgard — hired an assassin to kill them because his affair with an ex-slave was about to cause him to be disinherited," Treville says, and spits. "He could've put my Amina-love aside at any time, but... no. I let the fact that his name was worth more than mine stay my hand for too long. I let my Amina-love's confidence in his weakness and utter lack of —" He shakes his head. "I found the assassin. My Amina-love had taken his eye, left him sick and even madder than he was to begin with. I killed him after getting the few meagre scraps of information out of him that I could. I wasn't quick about it. Then I strung Belgard up by his intestines —" 

"He does, in fact, mean that literally," Jason says. 

Aramis makes another small sound. 

"He had no information for me, either. I knew he wouldn't. I just — had to..." And the tears that roll down his cheeks aren't unexpected, but they still burn. "There was magery in their disappearance, but it was magery we couldn't touch, somehow. So... yes, they left me. But." 

Aramis shudders. "I. I am very. There is nothing I can say to that, M'sieu." 

Treville smiles ruefully. "But you want to say something, son?" 

Aramis nods once. 

Treville doesn't, *doesn't* stroke his face. "I appreciate that." 

"Do you? Does it *mean* something to you?" 

"It does. And now you know why, don't you?" 

Aramis licks his lips. "Because... a part of you already thinks of me as... yours." 

"Just so, son." 

"But you will not... make demands. For sex." 

"Neither of us will," Treville says. "Ever." 

Aramis licks his lips again — "Other men have called me 'son', M'sieu. And wished to have me call *them* things." 

"I imagine so —" 

"I do not think..."

"Mm?" 

"I do not think they meant... what you mean," Aramis says, and stares down at Alain's mane. 

Treville looks to Jason — 

"You'll find, Aramis, that there is a fundamental truth to everything mon amant says that the words of most men lack," Jason says, and grins. 

"And you, M'sieu?" 

"If there's one thing I've learned in six hundred years, it's that there is never enough time in a life for lies. Not ever." 

Aramis nods thoughtfully and strokes Alain's neck. 

They ride on.


	3. Compromise is the heart of fine cuisine.

The fourth beautiful thing about this night is that the manor is quiet tonight. Normally, that wouldn't be a beautiful thing, at all — what with Kitos and Reynard on yet another mission *without* him — 

Because *they're* still *real* soldiers and he *isn't* — but. 

But. 

Treville needs this little time with just Jason and Aramis, and no questions but what they ask each other. 

Still, nothing he's been able to do will stop the stableboys from alerting Cook when he's coming in from a night of it — and those little bastards found his extra spyglass somewhere, he'd swear it — and that means there's food for them all.

Meat and more meat for Jason. 

Meat and potatoes *and* carrots for him — Cook always does like to get fancy when he's worried Treville hasn't been taking care of himself — 

And more of the same set aside, just in *case* Treville has brought someone *else* home with him. 

Which it just so happens that he has. 

Aramis eyes the simple fare with a quirked expression, but he doesn't seem disgusted or put-off. 

And...

Treville can't really —

(Are you really about to —) 

"Aramis... we can talk about different food for you —" 

Aramis grunts and *immediately* begins *devouring* his food. 

Treville blinks. 

Jason *looks* at him. 

What... did I miss?

(You just implied that he was making a *complaint*, amant. About a situation which, at this point, must seem like a dream — albeit a very odd one — come true.) 

I just want him to be happy!

The look gets even more sour. (Calm him *down*, first.) 

Shit. "Aramis..." 

"Mm — mm?" He swallows hugely. "Everything is — very good!" 

Treville winces — 

Aramis winces harder — 

Treville tries a soothing gesture or two. "You don't have to pretend. I know this is simpler stuff than what you're used to in Paris. I grew up eating soldier's fare from the time... well, I was younger than you. It's frankly all I can take at this point. But *you* don't have to —" 

"M'sieu —" 

"Wait. Let me..." Treville licks his lips. "My point is that I don't want you to *suffer* here. All right? If it were up to me, I'd still be spending most of my days and nights at the garrison, in my rooms in the city, or — best, yet — on the march with my brothers. I've done my best to make this place into a home for myself, but I'd *like* it to be a home for both of us. That means compromise —" 

"Compromise — compromise is for more than one *person*!" 

Treville blinks. 

Jason plants his elbows on the table and folds his hands under his chin. His plate is empty — *he* still eats *exactly* like a soldier, too. "He's got you there, amant." 

"I... all right, but —" 

"There is nothing wrong with this food!" 

"That... perhaps a few more spices and seasonings wouldn't cure?" And Treville raises his eyebrows. 

Aramis blushes — and then raises an eyebrow of his own. "Can you *afford* them?" 

And — he's seen the grounds, the house itself, the house's *state*. 

He knows perfectly well that Treville *can*. 

He's being a mouthy little bastard because he *can*. And....

Because he's feeling better. 

Treville would dearly love to kiss the top of his head, put a deadly weapon in his hand, and send him out to wreak havoc on an unsuspecting world. 

(You also want —) 

To fuck him catastrophically stupid, yes. He settles for sighing happily. "I can, yes. Tell me or Jason the sorts of seasonings you like, and I'll tell Cook about the ones I know *I'll* like. On special occasions, we can have things just for me, or just for you. All right?" 

Aramis gives him a long and somewhat *bleak* look, and that... 

(I'm afraid I don't know, amant.) 

Treville frowns. "What is it, son?" 

"I... am thinking about your boy. Your son." 

Treville takes a breath. "He'd... be almost your age now." 

Aramis nods. "Have you had many boys to try to take his place?" 

"Well, there's a question we should've seen coming," Jason says, and takes a long drink of his wine. 

Treville laughs quietly and painfully. "So we should have." 

"Answer!" 

"The answer is no... and yes." 

Aramis's expression is bruised for that. As it should be, really. 

Treville shakes his head. "You're thinking the wrong thing, though, son —" 

"Do not call me —" 

Treville holds up a hand. "I wind up with paternal feelings for any number of the boys I fuck. That was true long before the babe — *my* son — was born. I'm *built* that way. But the feelings were and are... shallow things. Not like this. You're... you're the first, truly." 

"The first *what*?" 

Treville smiles ruefully. "I'd like to adopt you, son. Your status would be secure. Your *life* would be —" 

"Stop! I —" Aramis pants — 

And pants — 

And stares at his half-eaten food — 

"I think," Jason says, "that it's time for you to have our honesty for your own, Aramis." 

"I..." And Aramis licks his lips and looks panicked for the first time tonight — and then he drags his haughtiness back on by main force. "I do not wish to *bleed* for *witches*. Even I know that is *dangerous*!" 

Jason laughs delightedly. "*Good*. Hold onto that worldview for as long as possible — it just may save your life someday. But." 

"Let us prove to you that we are *exactly* who and what we say we are," Treville says, leaning in and putting his dagger on the table. 

"I — I —" Aramis swallows and shakes his head. "I want more — conversation." 

"That can be arranged," Jason says, and steals a bite of roast beast from Treville's plate. 

"So it can," Treville says. "What are you afraid of?" 

Aramis looks at him like he's mad. 

"No? Don't like that one? How about: What do you like least about yourself?" 

Aramis *snarls* — 

"All right, all right. Try —" 

"Why — why are you asking *these* questions?" 

"Because they were some of the things at the front of your mind when you thought about us suddenly knowing your thoughts, son," Treville says, and smiles gently. 

"No — I —" 

"And I'm not doing any magic in particular. It's what anyone in your position — or any position like it — would think, I believe." 

Aramis flushes hotly. "And you did not? When you were making yourselves kin to each other?" 

Treville shakes his head. "There wasn't much time for thoughts like that. Jason was dying in my turnip field. I first gave him my blood to save his life. He was a stranger to me at the time." 

"Did you *know* you were making yourself.... kin to him?" 

"I did. I wasn't thinking about it, though." 

"Just.... about saving his life. Righting a wrong?" 

Treville nods. "But I've thought those thoughts at other times when I've made myself kin to someone — even to men I've known and loved — and been loved by — for long years. It's perfectly natural." 

Aramis lifts his chin. "And you mean to tell me how to *fight* those feelings?" 

"Not truly, Aramis," Jason says, and takes another long drink. "We mostly mean to make more conversation — though *this* conversation may indeed make it easier for you to let go enough to share blood with us." 

"If you allow us to prove to you that we will accept the darkest, smallest, meanest parts of you..." And Treville spins his fork on his fingers. "Tell you what. Ask *us* more questions," he says, and eats his food. 

"I... will do that," Aramis says, and eats *his* food, fast and efficiently. He's been watching. 

Treville still finishes first, and notes that Aramis seems to have the most trouble with the meat, which, while it's been cooked to tender submission, truly isn't seasoned with more than its own fat and a bit of salt. 

Cook isn't going to like poncing up his cuisine, but doing it for the future of the de Treville line might ease his mind some. 

Treville pours more wine for the three of them — 

Aramis takes a *measured* drink — "What do you not want me to know about you? Both of you. What will you *try* to hide from me, even when we can share our thoughts?" 

When...? Treville smiles at Jason — 

Jason grins wryly back — and turns the smile on Aramis. "We're both trying *very* hard to hide how badly we desire you. We don't want to pressure you, or even seem to pressure you." 

The suspicion for that puts a bite to Aramis's scent that's truly impressive — and mouth-watering — and... yes. "There isn't anything else, son. It's not that we're perfect people — you already know we aren't — it's that we don't mind *you* knowing the rest of our imperfections."

Aramis lifts his chin — 

Bares his throat — 

Will he learn not to do that? Will he learn to do that *often*? 

(One hopes...) 

Indeed. 

"What *are* your desires?" 

"We *don't* need to speak about that, mon grand —"

"Yes, we *do*," Aramis says, and blazes at Jason. "I must know — I must know who you both *are*. This is part of that." 

And the scents of his curiosity... 

(Yes.) And Jason inclines his head to Aramis. "Very well. For me, it is, perhaps, easier to discuss what I *dislike* sexually —" 

"Your tastes are so broad?" 

"Yes —" 

"For *all* of your lovers?" 

Jason smiles warmly and leans back, crossing his legs. "For all of my lovers who appreciate such things, mon grand. 

"And if I appreciate nothing you like?" 

Jason raises an eyebrow. "Do you appreciate *anything* sexual...?" 

"Answer my question first!" 

Jason inclines his head again. "I'm six hundred years old, mon grand. I have no difficulty tailoring myself to the tastes of my lovers — and I take great, great pleasure in it —" 

"But *not* in all things!" 

"Were you planning on choosing to appreciate what I did not...?" 

A bit of a flush, but not much of one. That wasn't a direct hit — or, if it was, Aramis had since *changed* his plans. 

Jason laughs. "All right. Here is what I don't like: Injuring my lovers irrevocably. Injuring my lovers in ways they don't *adore*. Injuring my lovers' *spirits*. *Dishonesty*. That *basically* covers the ground which needs to be covered." 

"I —" 

"Wait," Jason says, and holds up two fingers. 

Aramis frowns and subsides. 

"What you must understand is that I *have* done things over the course of my life which fell under those categories. I spent *many* years being an *arsehole* and an *idiot* after I was first made into this, and I have spent even more years making *amends* for that. Furthermore, you must understand that I built cravings for what can be termed the darker sides of sex and sexuality in my — relative — youth, and these things will always be my favorite —" 

"*What* things?" 

"Blood-drinking. Rape — however simulated and agreed-upon between all parties beforehand. Willing slavery — I save the unwilling sort for the truly irredeemable. *Binding*, soul to soul. Mastery — my own — over another. That sort of thing. This does not mean I will ever ask you for any of the above — and I certainly won't demand them —" 

"But you will *want* them," Aramis says, nodding to himself and turning to Treville with his eyebrows up. 

"I'm a dog, son, with a dog's appetites —"

"Even when you wear the shape of a man?"

"Even then. I'm never *really* human," Treville says, pushing his plate aside and folding his hands on the table. "It can be... maddening to pretend otherwise, day in and day out. I tend to let myself off the lead when it comes to sex." 

"When you fuck, you are the dog?" 

"Not literally. Not *often* — that sort of thing is an acquired taste for *most* humans, after all, and even the humans who *do* want it don't *always* want it. But..." 

"But?" 

Curiosity, worry, wonder, hunger — but *not* sexual hunger. Not...

(I believe he is trying very, very hard to see where and how he can... excel.) 

Oh, son...

(Yes, I think you can help there, but —) 

Tread carefully, yes. Treville leans forward just a little more. "A dog's appetites, like I said. I enjoy *rank* sex. *Dirty* sex. *Raw* sex. I enjoy sweat, musk — I always need to bury myself in the scents and flavours of my lovers. To *cover* myself in them, and to cover my lovers in my own scents. There are any number of ways to do that, but I do have my favourites —" 

"What — what are they?" 

"If you let me, I'll bury my face in your arse daily, son."

Aramis *blinks* — 

And Treville winks and smiles. "Were you expecting something more violent? I already told you to expect something rather different from me."

"I — what *else*?" And Aramis is flushing again. 

"I'll taste you everywhere you're musky, son. Your ears, your belly-button, the curls around your cock — hm." 

"*What*? What is it?" 

"Did they shave you?" 

"Only sometimes! My hair has grown *back*." 

Treville nods. "You'll have a barbering kit of your own, of course, and will be able to use it as you see fit — and, of course, if you let me adopt you, you'll be barbered *with* me three times a week — that's frankly all the primping I can stand —" 

"What do you *prefer*?" 

"I like my men — and my women, and my everyone else — hairy, son."

"Is this *also* the dog's appetite?" 

"I honestly don't know. It's always been *my* appetite, but then, I've always been rather... canine in my approach to life." 

Aramis wets his lips —"What — what will you want from *me*? How do your lovers *serve* you?" 

"A dog's appetite's are simple for the most part, son. A good, hard fuck. Your beautiful mouth. Your beautiful arse —" 

"You haven't seen —" And Aramis's teeth click shut — 

He looks *furious* with himself — and then he doesn't. 

"I am scarred, Messieurs. My hips, my arse, my upper legs. You should have made Tristan show you his merchandise —" 

Treville raises a hand. "I'm not going to ask you *who* scarred you, unless you'd *like* to tell us, and make us very happy as we plot ways to cause those people large amounts of misery and suffering —" 

"You — I —" 

"— but I will say this: The only one of my lovers — my *true* lovers — who hasn't been a warrior of one sort or another is Marie-Angelique, and that's debatable. *She* wouldn't like the appellation, though, so she won't get it. I mention that because every last *one* of my lovers is *brutally* scarred in one way or another, *including* Marie-Angelique, because *she* likes it when the dog *claims* her. So. Son. Think very carefully about whether or not *we* would find *your* scars off-putting, as opposed to the proof of survival — and badges of *honour* — that they *are*." 

"Badges — I was *whipped* for my poor behaviour!" 

"Your poor behaviour? Or your smart mouth?" 

"My — both —" 

"And perhaps," Jason says, and swirls his wine in his glass, "you were taking your guardians to task for their failings?" 

"They were fools and bullies and rapists!"

"Then why in all the spheres, mon grand, should we consider the scars you took from them as anything but proof that you fought *iniquity* and *imbalance* in every way you could?" And Jason raises an eyebrow. 

"You... you do not..." 

"What is it, son? What can we do?" 

"I would like. To be shown to my room now," Aramis says, and stares at the table, and pants. 

And pants — 

"I will not run away." 

And Treville wants... so much more. 

So *much* more, even if sex isn't in the offing, at *all* — 

Dogs aren't built for *patience* — 

(Neither are immortal witches, but we're going to pretend.) 

Yes, yes, we are. 

They drink off their wine, stand, take their dishes to the sideboard — 

Aramis does the same after a moment, moving stiffly and looking at neither of them —

And then Treville leads them through the manor on a truncated tour, showing Aramis some of the places he'll need to be able to find for himself. 

Aramis is subdued and quiet throughout, thoughts obviously a *roil* — 

They have to give him time. 

He won't run. He won't run. 

He won't — and that's the important thing.

(Just so, amant.) 

The chambermaids have brought Aramis's things to the suite around the corner from the master suite, which isn't close enough by *half*, but — 

(It could foster his sense of comfort...) 

Yes — yes. Right. I'm capable of thought, I promise. 

Jason squeezes his hand. "If you need anything at all, mon grand, you know where we'll be."

Aramis nods once, staring around the rooms and looking... small. 

Young. 

In *need* — 

(Amant...) 

Treville clears his throat. "Please don't hesitate to ask for whatever you *do* need, son. I've given myself the day off tomorrow, and Jason doesn't sleep, at all." 

*That* puts some spark back in Aramis's eyes — "You do not *sleep*?" 

Jason smiles ruefully. "Etrigan and I have too many enemies for that, I fear. I will be studying and working on some few projects of my own while mon amant rests." 

"In... your own suite?" 

"No," Jason says, and smiles wider. "Mon amant sleeps through my work quite well, and I quite enjoy getting in to cuddle him from time to time." 

Treville rumbles. "Every part of me likes waking up held." 

Aramis nods thoughtfully for that. "I... do not need anything else at this time." The lie of that is *obvious* — 

But that chin is up, and there's something like a plea under the haughtiness. 

There's — "Are we supposed to pretend we don't hear that, son?" 

Aramis shudders once, all over his beautiful body. And then he *nods* once, plea getting stronger. 

He needs them gone. 

Jason bows. 

Treville doesn't *touch* — "Goodnight, son. Sleep well." 

"You. You, as well. Both of you." 

They go.


	4. It's important to make time for serious emotional conversations. And hardcore dog-fucking.

"You're straining every last one of your senses in hopes of finding out what our boy is doing right this second." 

"*You're* stating the obvious," Treville says, lying atop the duvet and, yes, straining. 

He can hear Aramis's heartbeat — too fast, but not worryingly so. 

He can hear Aramis's breathing — ragged, but, again, not worryingly so. 

The walls are too thick for anything else. 

Damnit. 

"I *could* —" 

"No. Don't spy on him — that way." 

Jason *looks* at him. "Are you about to tell me that sending a shadow to look in on him would somehow be more *unethical* than what you're doing, amant? Because —" 

"I'm an idiot and a hypocrite? I know it," Treville says, wincing and — stopping. "Come away from the desk, please." 

"Hmm. Are you *positive* I should indulge you right now, amant? You seem to be in a mood to *struggle*." 

Treville smiles wryly. "I'm in the mood to be petted. Please. *Please*." 

Jason blinks and starts stripping out of his clothes immediately. "Why didn't you *say* —" 

"I didn't *know* —" 

Jason growls. "You don't listen to your dog nearly *enough*, amant. And while I'm glad for the instinct that told me I'd need something stronger than glamour tonight, I'm *very* annoyed to be *dressed* right now," he says, and growls more. 

"I could help —" 

"Stay *right* there — no. Take off your breeches." 

Treville follows orders — 

And then Jason is crawling naked onto the bed and straddling him, giving him his hard, callused hands — 

Giving them to him all *over* — 

Not stinting at his *face*, his throat, his arms —

Treville is shuddering and panting and trying not to croon before Jason even gets to his furred belly — 

And then he stops trying. 

Then he just — gives in to it, arches into it, rolls when he's urged, is *stroked* — 

Petted and *loved* — 

And Jason is saying things — 

Treville *knows* he is, but it's too hard — 

It's too much — 

(It's all right. Shift.) 

Yes yes yes and he's on his knees, his hands and knees, and it's the easiest thing, the best thing, to get on his toes — 

To feel Jason's pets and strokes on his back as he shifts on the soft bed, too soft, too soft, but Jason likes it, he uses names now, he's a good dog — 

(You're the *best* dog...) 

Jason Jason Jason and he has to turn, to lick, to sniff — 

It's been too long — 

It's been too *long*! 

(I agree,) Jason says, cupping the dog's face and licking his nose, that tickles, that's nice, that's so nice! 

So — 

Jason does it again — 

Again — 

The dog scrambles back and sneezes — 

Jason laughs and beckons him closer again — 

Closer is better, always better, but the dog has to sniff — 

See where Jason has *been* — 

So many places!

So many — and the Mother isn't a part of all of them, the dog can tell. He licks the soles of Jason's feet, licks and licks to get rid of that scent — 

(I'm afraid it will take more than that to do that, hound, but come here, and I'll fix it.) 

Yes? Yes? 

(Yes.) 

The dog trots round in front of Jason again — and Jason sets himself on fire. 

The dog snorts and backs away a few steps, even though this fire has very little extra heat. He just has to — 

It's too — 

But then the fire is gone, and Jason just smells like Jason again, not like those other Mother-less places, and that's better, much better. 

The dog licks Jason's cock — 

Jason's breath hitches and he gives the dog his wonderful hands again, cupping and petting, stroking so firmly, so *good* —

The dog licks and licks and *licks* — 

Jason has to make more scents! 

Jason has to make more — there, he's leaking, and it's the right amount, not a *human* amount — 

(Never that...) And Jason's breath is hitching again — 

Again — 

He's scratching behind the dog's ears — 

So good!

The dog noses down and nibbles at Jason's balls, slowly the way he remembers that Jason likes —

(Oh — oh, Hecate's *cunt*, hound, that's perfect —) 

The dog can't help licking for that, licking all over Jason's crotch in celebration, love, appreciation — he's doing this right!

He's pleasing his pack! 

Jason groans, cock twitching *hard* — 

And the dog knows how to focus, how to be good, how to be *good*. He nibbles Jason's balls again —

Breathes in musk and sweat and pleasure and *need* — 

Croons and nibbles Jason's cock — 

Jason pants and grips at the dog's loose skin — 

Grunts and *bucks* — 

The dog knows he has to be *careful* — 

Sensitive flesh, sensitive and tender — 

He nibbles more softly while Jason is moving — 

Jason cries *out* — 

The words he says are in a language the dog doesn't know, but the *meaning* is clear, the *need* is clear — especially with the way Jason pushes him back — 

With the way Jason drops to his hands and knees oh oh — 

Oh — 

The dog trots round behind him — 

Sniffs and sniffs and *shoves* his muzzle at Jason's arse — 

Jason spreads himself, Jason gives himself, Jason Jason JASON — 

The dog licks and licks and shoves *in* with his tongue, finding more of Jason's slick, more that Jason's *put* there for him — 

(While stretching myself — for you — ah, fuck, Osiris's missing *cock*, you feel *perfect* —) 

The dog rumbles and rumbles for that, shoves his tongue deeper, deep as he can, licks and tastes and *has* him — 

So right — 

So right, so perfect — 

(That's *you*, hound —) 

The dog whines — he's so hard! He's so hard and he wants to *fuck* — 

(Then *do* it...) 

The dog pulls back and licks all over Jason's arse, dips beneath to *nip* his balls — 

Jason *shouts* — 

The dog laps and laps and — 

And feels the shadows all over the room coming closer, teasing at him, teasing at them both. Petting — 

Yes, petting!

Stroking his *cock* — 

Squeezing his *knot* — 

(Just — just a little something to ease you while the shadows prepare me, hound...) 

He wants he wants he — 

The dog curls up behind Jason and licks at the shadows around his cock, nibbles at them — 

Jason groans and shakes — 

He's shaking the *bed* — 

(Don't stop — please don't stop —) 

The dog yips and obeys, and this is the part he doesn't quite understand, the shadows being part and not-part of Jason, but he can smell Jason's pleasure, his need — 

He can hear him groan and cry out for every nibble and lick — 

The dog curls his tongue *around* — 

Squeezes and *drags* it off slowly — 

Jason shudders, and all of his scents become wilder, heavier, *needier*. They — 

Now, Jason?

(Nnh — I — please — *please*.) 

The dog gives the shadows a few last licks as they peel away from him and mounts immediately. He's had practice at this, he knows what he's doing, but it's still a little hard to get to the right place — 

His body still wants to start fucking as soon as it's *almost* in position — 

It makes it *harder* — 

The dog growls in frustration — but there, there, Jason's shadows guiding him, tugging his cock — 

In — 

The dog barks and *thrusts* — 

"*Yes* —" 

Oh yes yes yes — 

Oh so slick, so ready, so open — 

The dog thrusts again, again — 

Again again again — 

Jason groans and drops his head, offers, gives — 

The dog *hurts* with how good it is, how right, how right it *always* is — 

It's been too *long* — 

The dog *grips* Jason by the chest and thrusts harder, *harder*, and his knot is so big, so hard, so — 

His knot is hurting, throbbing, *aching* — 

(Give it to me, give me — oh, hound —) 

The dog yips and *fucks* Jason hard, *hard*, and this — 

This is the fastest way, the best way — 

Jason always opens right up for him —

Jason laughs breathlessly — (You give me no *choice*, you wonderful — wonderful — ah, Hecate's dripping *cunt* —)

That was for the front curve of his knot slipping in, the dog knows it, knows it, feels it — 

Feels himself being *crushed* by Jason's *clenches* — 

More. 

He needs *more* — 

He fucks Jason harder — 

Jason grunts and *sweats*, *leaks*, grunts for every thrust — 

(I need you, I need you *inside* me —) 

The dog yelps and *shoves* in — 

Jason *howls* — 

The dog shoves harder, deeper, pops *in* — 

Oh, *in* — 

Jason clenches and gasps — 

*Sweats* — 

The dog can smell his pain and wonder, his wonder every *time* for this — 

(For *you*...) 

The dog grips Jason's chest *hard* — 

(Yes, *hold* me*, take my — my *breath* —) 

Harder, then, and the dog is already rutting, already shoving, already *taking* what's *his* — 

Pack-brother — 

Witch-brother — 

His his *his* — 

Jason *arches* his neck — 

And the dog lunges and *bites* before he can stop himself, he can't — 

(*Never* stop yourself — oh — oh, my blood in your *mouth*...) 

So powerful, so rich, so — 

There are *things* in Jason's blood that aren't in other people's blood, things that aren't of the *Mother*, and the dog knows the Mother doesn't necessarily want him tasting those things, but they taste so *good*, feel so *right* — 

Jason Jason *Jason* — 

The dog bites *deeper* — 

Ruts *in* — 

Jason *chokes* on a howl and reaches back to stroke his own cock. Fast, the dog knows, *fast* — 

The dog ruts harder, faster — 

Jason sobs and shudders under him, shakes and starts to *collapse* — 

The dog pulls him *up* by his grip on the back of Jason's *neck* — 

(*Fuck* —) 

But Jason steadies himself and goes back to stroking himself — 

(Digging — digging my *nails* in as if they're your *teeth*, hound —) 

The dog yelps again, breaks the bite — 

Bites Jason's shoulder, instead — 

Bites *deep* — 

(Ah, *fuck* — fuck me, fuck me, just fuck me —) 

The dog *croons* into the bite, laps and laps and *pounds* his cock into Jason while he clenches and flexes — 

While he *milks* the dog and makes him feel — 

Makes him feel so good, so loved, so needed — 

(You *are*, you always *are* —) 

Jason Jason — and the dog is fucking wildly now, needy and without control, without anything *like* control, and he hopes it's good — 

Needs it to be good for his *brother* — 

(More — just —) 

The dog yips and trembles and *gives*, and he's so close, he's so — 

(Oh, hound, give it to me, give me — everything —) 

The dog shoves in, shoves *in* — 

Jason clenches around his knot — 

Holds him *tight* — 

Doesn't let *go* — 

The dog ruts *desperately*, whining and yipping and nipping all over Jason's back and shoulders — 

(*Fuck* —) 

And then there are the scents of Jason's spend, Jason's *pleasure* — 

Jason has no *air* to cry out — 

The dog can't *let* him breathe enough to *make* noise — 

The dog has to crush him *harder* —

Fuck him *harder* — 

Jason is drifting and moaning *silently* — 

Jason is spurting more and more — 

Clenching *tighter* — 

Holding the dog so *perfectly* — 

His wounds are all healing — 

Perfect brother, perfect pack, perfect perfect — 

He slumps and flexes open — 

The dog shoves himself that much *deeper* — 

He clenches *again* — 

And the dog is howling and spurting, spilling *deep* in Jason's arse, filling him and filling him — 

(Oh, yes....) 

And *swelling* — 

Oh — 

Oh, it *hurts* — 

The dog howls *again*, rutting to try to ease the *pain* of it — 

It's been so *long* — 

It feels like he's spurting through too small a *hole* — 

He has to get out out out — 

(Shh, it's all right. You just have to shift for now.) 

Don't want don't want don't — 

(But you'll hurt me if you don't...) 

The dog stops, right there — 

*Whines* for the feel of himself spurting still more — 

Remembers that this is how it *goes* — 

(That's right...) 

I I I'll come back soon? 

(*Very* soon.) 

Jason always keeps his promises. The dog shifts *as* he's spurting — 

Swelling — 

Shifting-changing-growing — 

"Ah, *fuck*, my knot is *massive*," Treville says, panting through the spill — 

"I'd *noticed*," Jason says, and laughs filthily. "You really *haven't* been using it lately." 

"I —" 

"*Don't* deny it. Reynard must be ready to slash the throats of an entire conclave."

Treville groans as he spurts a bit *more* — "To — to be fair, he nearly always is," he says, and strokes over Jason's strong back. 

And Jason is looking at him. 

It doesn't matter that he's on his hands and knees and Treville's *behind* him — 

Jason is looking at him. 

Treville sighs, and leans in carefully, and *kisses* the back of Jason's neck. "I'll do better." 

"Will you?" 

"I'd been trying to respect the sanctity of the office — Laurent leaves sanctity wherever he *goes* —" 

"*Laurent* *horse*-whipped you in that office *regularly* —" 

"And I — need to start doing similar things with my brothers." 

"But *will* you." 

"I will," Treville says. "We both know exactly who I am — once I fuck in there *once*, all bets are off. There'll be no more sanctity to protect." 

Jason sighs. "All right." 

"I —" 

"I'm worried about you, amant." 

And that was his serious voice. His — "I know you are." 

"You could let this *promotion* swallow you if you're not careful." 

"I know that, too. It's only..." 

"Yes...?" 

And Treville starts the process of easing them over onto their sides into a quite respectable cuddle — 

Holds Jason *tight* —

Snuffles up into his hair — 

"Amant..." 

"I'm not really avoiding this conversation," Treville says, and licks at Jason's sweaty hairline. "I've just missed you." 

"You could call me more *often*." 

"You could *come* more often. You could *stay*, the way you used to." 

Jason is silent for long moments, and Treville quite literally smells trouble.

"Jason?" 

"Tell me..." 

"Anything, you know —" 

"Tell me about why you took the promotion, amant," Jason says, and he's... tense.

Treville strokes him, pets him — "I didn't want the job. We all know that. I bet even *Aramis* knows that —" 

"Then *why* —" 

"Because it was my duty —" 

Jason growls — 

"*Not* to the boy-king and not even to bloody *France*, Jason —" 

"Then to *what*?" 

Treville smiles ruefully. "To me, lover." 

"What?" 

"To me — and every boy and man out there *like* me who needs a place to run to. A place where they can learn how to be the best men they can be, a place where they can learn about respect and *self*-respect, and *brotherhood*, and love, and *home*... ah, shit, Jason. Being a Musketeer gave me almost everything important in my life. There *wasn't* anyone who could do the job half as well as I could, and it was a *debt I had to pay*." 

Another long silence. 

Too long. 

Too *long* — 

"Jason —" 

"I — know what you're bloody talking about," Jason says, and growls.

Treville strokes down the length of his arm, and doesn't quite twine their fingers together. "I know you do." 

"I wanted you *with* me when you retired. Instead..." 

"Instead... I've put down roots." 

Jason shudders. 

"You gave me forever, Jason. You gave me *immortality*." 

"Yes —" 

"The Captain of the King's Musketeers can't stay there forever," Treville says, and kisses Jason's shoulder. 

Jason inhales. "I'm... not a patient man." 

"I'd picked that up." 

"I'm a hungry, greedy, needy, selfish —" Jason growls —

"Hey —" 

"It's not as if your pack isn't my *own*." 

"No, it isn't. And you've been missed..." 

"I've been sulking," Jason says, and twines their fingers together himself. 

"I don't think I've ever seen you do that..." 

"Yes, well, I try *very* hard to keep it *away* from — amant, you've *spoiled* me." 

Treville snuffles back up into Jason's hair. "Tell me about that." 

"You've given me a lover, a brother, a companion, a *coven*..." Jason growls. "You've given me everything I've ever *wanted*, *and* a pack to go along with it, *and* soldiering to do whenever the *mood* struck me — of bloody course I want even more!"

Treville brings their joined hands up over Jason's heart — 

Kisses the back of Jason's neck — 

Makes *love* to the back of Jason's neck, and all of Treville's scars he's chosen to keep over the years —

"Oh — amant —" 

"There's one thing you're not considering, lover." 

"Tell me. Tell me what — tell me *everything* —"

Treville nips Jason's ear. "Taking the position of Captain, by necessity, separates me, just a bit, from my pack."

Jason grunts — 

"Each and every one of them is learning — a little more every day — how to *live* day-to-day without their Fearless. Without their meneur. Without their dog. Without their *brother*." 

"Oh — amant —" 

"They're learning to live with having me on a part-time basis, just like I'm learning to live with having them that way," Treville says, and licks some of the sweat from behind Jason's ear. "When the day comes that Captain Treville of the King's Musketeers has to step down..." 

"They'll all be waiting for you —" 

"But, perhaps, they'll be accustomed to me having *you* at my side." 

Jason inhales sharply — 

"The left-handed war keeps you away — we both know it, and we both know I don't do my share. But you don't have *protocol* to keep you away, the way Laurent and Marie-Angelique do. You don't have missions for the *Crown* to keep you away, the way Kitos and Reynard do. You can... be here." 

"And... you want me here." 

"I do. I always have. From the first bloody *day*." 

Jason laughs painfully.

"What? What is it?" 

"If I hadn't failed you... if I'd found your *son*..." 

*Treville* grunts — "Don't —" 

"No, I — I apologize," Jason says, and squeezes Treville's hand. "Part of me only wants to have proven myself. To have *earned* my place, and thus earned your loyalty —" 

"Have I been disloyal —" 

"*No*. Ah, don't listen to me. I'm watching you fall in love with someone else, someone else who is absolutely perfect for you *and* me *and* the pack as a whole, and I am at odds with myself." 

"But —" 

"You remember this from our first days together, don't you? When you were putting the pack together, and before you bound *us* so thoroughly?" 

"I do, I remember everything, but I want to make you *happy*." 

Jason presses back against him — 

Treville squeezes him *tight* — 

"Don't — change." 

"Jason?" 

"Don't change anything about yourself, amant. Don't learn to live without your pack — you're a *dog*, and warring against the natural order of things is a game for fools. *Young* fools. You haven't been young since you lost your family." 

"Jason..." 

"Don't — don't *change*. I fell in love with *you*. All of *you*, *and* the mad world you live in and the mad people in it. Don't think for a moment that I haven't missed Reynard's caresses, and Kitos's hugs, and Laurent's conversation, and Marie-Angelique's conversational *skewers*. Don't think for a moment that I've spent my time sulking missing *only* you, wanting *only* you — as opposed to *telling* myself that I was doing that. If I ever made you smaller..." Jason shakes his head. "Don't let me do it. And for the love everything *bright*, don't let your *duty* do it." 

Treville... breathes. 

Just — breathes. 

He tucks his face in against Jason's throat, and gets more of his scents — 

His calming, warming — 

He knows Treville's heart. 

He knows Treville will *listen* to him and stay — 

And stay. 

"I know the measure of the man I love more than anyone or anything else in the spheres," Jason says. 

"I know your measure, too, Jason." Treville says, and kisses his throat. 

"Yes, you —" 

"There's more you need from me." 

Jason inhales. 

"Will you take it?" 

Jason exhales, slowly, and with a shudder. 

With a laugh. 

"I've a student now. I don't *think* he'd appreciate a trip across the Channel... so. Perhaps I'll be taking up residence again." 

Treville growls low.

"By which I mean, I've already moved several important items back into my suite — I. Perhaps *neither* of us will let the other slip away...?" 

"That's *right*," Treville says, nipping Jason's ear again and then nuzzling back into his hair. 

"How you manage to sleep with my hair *in* your nostrils is a mystery for the ages." 

"Shall we talk about what *you've* got lodged in your arse, lover?" 

"Hmph." 

Treville rumbles a laugh and nuzzles just a little bit more. Considering the size of his knot *still*, they'll be tied for another forty-five minutes or so. Treville will be asleep by the time Jason is free — 

(I'll never be free, and that is a gift I never earned.) 

Treville rumbles more, and kisses, and kisses, and closes his eyes.


	5. They've left the brothel.

Treville wakes to the feel of a gentle touch on his mind — 

A stroke, not a shake — 

It's not the alert — 

(But it is *an* alert, amant. We're about to be visited upon.) 

Treville blinks and opens his eyes, rubbing the sleep dust from them just in time for there to be a knock on the door — 

And Aramis's scents are high, wild, tense — 

Anxious-determined-bloody-minded — 

He hasn't slept — 

"Come in," Treville says, and sits up, making sure to cover his crotch with the duvet. 

Jason has glamoured smallclothes onto himself — 

Treville gives himself some *very* insubstantial breeches under the covers — 

And Aramis walks in wearing *only* breeches — 

*Loosened* breeches — 

(Don't swallow, amant.) 

I'm *trying* — 

Aramis closes the door behind himself and *strides* to the foot of the bed. "I have decided that I will make love with both of you —" 

"Son —" 

"I wish to know which of you will have me first —" 

"Mon grand —" 

"— or if you will act together —" 

"*Wait*," Treville says, using the command-voice — 

And Aramis narrows his eyes for it — but doesn't flinch and *does* stop. 

Good enough. "You're not here to make love with us." 

"I —" 

"Shh," Treville says. "You're not here to make love, or even have sex. You're here to pay us. Right?" 

Aramis's beautiful mouth twists hard — 

He stands his *ground* — 

He's meeting neither of their eyes. 

"Perhaps," Jason says, "you would like to talk with us more." 

*That* gets a flicker of a glance. 

"You can, you know, son," Treville says. "I'd love to spend the night talking with you." 

"About... what?" 

Treville opens his mouth — 

"Don't say 'anything'!" 

Treville closes his mouth and nods. "All right, then. I'd like to know more about your education, for a start. What you *liked* about it, so I can, perhaps, hire tutors accordingly — or at least buy the appropriate books." 

"I'd like to know more about your horsemanship," Jason says, predictably. "You were *very* good with Alain tonight. Have you had a horse of your own?" 

"I —" Aramis firms that mouth into a hard line. "I don't... *why* do you not wish to have me?" 

"Because we'd like to be wanted first, son," Treville says, gently. 

"You went to a *brothel* —" 

"And then," Jason says, "we left it." 

Aramis looks at both of them then — 

Meets their eyes with *frustration* —

Treville strengthens the glamour of his breeches and stands, moving just a little closer to Aramis — but not too close. 

"*What*?" 

"We've told you that we won't demand sex from you —" 

"I am *offering* —" 

"Wait," Treville says, with *quiet* command —

And Aramis quiets himself and only looks at him. 

"It's good that you pay attention when I tell you to stop speaking, son," Treville says, and smiles. "I promise it won't happen especially often, as these things go. But this..." He shakes his head. "We're hungry. *Greedy*. We want your *desire*." 

"And you think you can *get* it?" 

"Yes." 

Aramis rears back. "I am not some — some innocent *farmboy* you can *seduce*." 

Jason laughs richly. "We'd noticed." 

Aramis glares at him — 

And Treville doesn't touch him. Not *yet*. "Son. Talk with us. Get to know us. Let us know *you*." 

"But you know me so well already, hm? You know you desire me, and *hunger* for me, and want me for your *kin*." And Aramis looks back and forth at *both* of them — 

Jason growls. "We *do* know all of that, mon grand. Now, please, give us more." 

"We will always, always want more," Treville says. 

"How do you *know* this?" 

"We're old enough to know *ourselves*, son —" 

"There are *many* old men who know *nothing* about themselves!" 

"We are *not* them," Jason says, and stands to pour watered wine for them all. "I daresay you're old enough to know a fair amount about yourself, too." 

"I *am*!" 

"Then you already know that you'd like to sit down, and get comfortable, and talk," Jason says, and hands Aramis a glass. 

"I —" 

"It's a bit late in the day for this much belligerence, son. Or is it?" 

Aramis knocks back half his wine like a soldier. "Do you not want me *mouthy* anymore, M'sieu?" 

Treville grins — and toasts him. "Very well. *I'm* going to sit down again, with Jason, on the bed —" 

"Which is quite, quite comfortable —" 

"And warm —" 

"Soft, but not *overly* soft," Jason says — 

"Though, I have to be honest, the dog in me *does* prefer the rugs —" 

"I want —" And Aramis stops right there, gripping the footboard. 

Treville sits down, just the same, one knee bent up, one leg out straight —

Jason pushes close — 

Treville wraps an arm around his waist. "What is it, son? What can we give you?" 

The calculations running through Aramis's mind are obvious for a long moment — 

And then his face is *blank*, and his scents are full of even more tension, even *more* calculation — 

And then he *blazes* at them, walks round to Treville's side of the bed, crawls on, and sits tailor-fashion at the foot. "Tell me more about your dog." 

Treville grins. "Absolutely. Where should I begin?" 

"I... heard..." And then Aramis shakes his head once and *looks* at him. "Were you making love as the dog tonight?" 

"I was. Jason and I began making love as men, but I needed to be the dog —" 

"He often does when we begin making love that way," Jason says. 

"Which way is this?" 

"I was petting him firmly, allowing him to feel all of the calluses on my hands — but especially the sword-calluses." 

Aramis blinks. 

"Something about that was surprising, mon grand?" 

"You use your sword often enough to have grown callused?" 

Treville and Jason share a grin — 

"Tell me!" 

"Bien sûr, mon grand," Jason says, and turns back to Aramis. "I was a knight *almost* before I was anything else. The rapier you saw on my hip was actually a glamoured bastard sword — are you familiar with the term?" 

"Yes! But you must wear those on your *back*!" 

"I was. The shadow-magery allows my glamours to be quite powerful, indeed." 

Aramis blinks rapidly for long moments — "Will you be able to teach me that?" 

Jason grins. "Some of it. Spirit-magery lends itself well to glamours." 

Aramis nods thoughtfully, but only for a moment before he turns back to Treville. 

"Yes, son?" 

"*How* did you make love as the dog?" 

"Are you looking for specifics?" 

"Yes!" 

Treville coughs and grins. "All right, son. As you *will*," he says, finishing off his own wine and setting the glass down on the bedside table. "Mm. There was a bit of play first — the dog always needs that with his pack-mates, even if he's *very* hard —" 

"He is not you? You talk about him as if he is a separate being!"

"He's not *quite* me, son. We share most of a soul, but he can go his own way, sometimes, just as I can. In a lot of ways, we're two *different* dogs. But?" 

"Continue!" 

Treville inclines his head. "He played with Jason for a bit —" 

"Can you feel what he feels? And can he feel what *you* feel?" 

"Yes and yes, son. It's not quite the same as doing it ourselves — whatever *it* is — but we get to have the experiences." 

"So *you* were playing with Jason, too?" 

"To a certain extent. I don't take quite so much pleasure out of Jason licking my nose, though," Treville says, and winks. 

Jason laughs softly. "He's ticklish in *other* places." 

Aramis *stares* at them for a long moment — 

Treville raises his eyebrows — 

And Aramis shakes his head once. "How else did you play?" 

"Petting, licking — and of course the dog had to sniff Jason to see where he'd been, son." 

"Why... doesn't the dog have a name?" 

"We've asked him if he wanted a name many times," Jason says, and sips his own wine. "He told us that he thinks of himself as 'the dog', and that he has to hold on to so many other 'human-like' names for his pack that one more would be too many." 

Aramis frowns. 

"You don't like that he doesn't have a name, son?"

"*Slaves* don't have names." 

Treville barks a laugh. "He's anything but my slave. But — he's not human. He's not even as human as I am. Names are challenging for him, and more annoying than anything else when he's not using them to claim his pack-mates. You'll see when you get to know him."

Aramis's frown, this time, is more troubled. "You believe he'll wish to be my pack-mate?" 

"We *know* that he already does, mon grand," Jason says. "He was yearning for you while we were still on horseback." 

Aramis inhales — "I — I remember that. I apologize." 

"It's all right, son. You've taken in a lot of information tonight." 

Aramis gives him a long look that's just a little — hungry. He doesn't smell like sex. He doesn't — 

Treville tamps himself *down* — "What do you need?" 

"You — still haven't told me how the dog makes love!" 

"Is that really what you want to know?" 

"It's one of the things I want to know!" 

"All right, son, all right. The dog licked Jason's cock *thoroughly* —" 

"And *wonderfully*," Jason says, leaning over to set his own glass down. "The dog is very, very loving — in the way of most dogs, truly — but it always seems more special with him. More... important. Well, he *is* my pack." 

"That's *right*," Treville says, and grins at Jason. "He started nibbling on your bollocks..." 

"Oh, my, yes. I have no resistance whatsoever to that — not that I *intended* to put up a fight —" 

"But still." 

"But still, yes," Jason says, and laughs. "I was on my hands and knees *very* quickly, indeed, and the dog was tasting my arse." 

Aramis makes a small sound — 

"I did mention something about a dog's appetites, didn't I, son?" 

Aramis *flushes* — and blanks his expression again. 

Fascinating. 

*Absolutely*, *deeply*, *powerfully* — 

(*Ignore* the fact that he's starting to smell like sex, amant.) 

Oh, I am, I am. 

(Amant.) 

I *mostly* am. Especially since he wants care more than anything else. 

(*Precisely*.) 

"In any event," Treville says, and smiles ruefully. "The dog had some help with Jason's arse." 

"Wh-what?" 

"The shadows, mon grand. As you've noticed, I can give them quite a bit of solidity..." 

Aramis's eyes widen and he *stares* at Jason — "You used them — you used a shadow as a *toy*?" 

"I used *three*," Jason says, and grins. "*While* the dog was tonguing me breathless. The dog's cock and knot are smaller than mon amant's —" 

"Treville —" And Aramis shuts his teeth with a click. He hadn't meant to use Treville's name. 

They studiously ignore that he had. 

"Yes, mon grand? Was there something —" 

"What — does he have —" Aramis turns and stares at Treville, face flushed and eyes still wide. "Do you have a *knot*." 

"I do, son." 

Aramis *grunts*. "How — how is this — you are a Musketeer! How did you *hide* —" 

"I didn't," Treville says, and grins. 

"But." 

Treville laughs hard. "Oh, son. I didn't wave my cock about in front of *everyone*... but it was an open secret that the dirty, trouble-making bastard of a lordling was a little different down below. And since I happened to be the dirty, trouble-making bastard of a lordling who *mostly* kept Reynard from everyone's throats? Well, things ran smoothly." 

"Amant." 

Treville laughs more. "All right, there may have been a few other reasons, but Reynard really hasn't gotten any less mad with age, bless him." 

Jason sighs happily. "No, he hasn't. I do wonder how Kitos manages to handle him *without* you these days." 

"Fucking him senseless, mostly. That cock on Kitos could pacify a Spanish cavalry charge."

"Mm. *Including* the horses, yes," Jason says, and they both turn back to Aramis — who is staring at both of them quietly. 

Staring hard and wonderingly and — 

And they've been giving him a lot of information again. 

"Perhaps," Treville says, "you could tell us a little more about yourself —" 

"I would like to see your cock!" 

"Son —" 

"Give this to me!" 

Treville slips his arm from around Jason's waist and kneels up — 

"What do you notice about his breeches, mon grand?" 

"What? I —" And then Aramis *glares* at Treville's glamoured breeches, focusing hard — "There is... I do not know. I do not *know*, but there is something — and with *your* clothes, as well!" 

"Very good," Jason says, and nods. "They're *not* real. We glamoured ourselves covered when we heard you coming." 

"I. You wished... to be dressed — no. No. Teach me —" 

"I'll teach you how to always be able to see through glamour — whether you wish to do so or not," Jason says. "The first step is to never release your power, never shove it away from yourself, never *hide* from it —" 

"I am *not* a coward!" 

"No, mon grand, you could *never* be that. Now *take* your power. *Reach* deep within for it, for everything which makes you *precisely* — ah. There you are. What do you see?" 

And Aramis is staring fixedly, open-mouthed, at Jason. 

And, probably, at Etrigan and the shadow-being, too — 

"You — you — there is so much of you!" 

"Of me? Or —" 

"There — I see — the others," Aramis says, and swallows. And then nods to them both. 

They nod back. 

"And I see — you're wearing very old-fashioned armour!" 

Jason smiles gently. "Wool and chain-mail is what my soul lives in, mon grand." 

Treville sits back down on his heels and waits. 

"What you're looking at now is... hm. A *representation* of my soul. Look at Treville, please." 

Aramis does so — and blinks at the dog waiting impatiently beside him. He reaches out — 

"Careful, son. You're inadvertently urging me to shift." 

Aramis blinks again — "But — but how?" 

"You're reaching for the dog, who is, despite appearances, not *here*. You can see him, because he's *always* here — part of my soul — but I'm the one currently in control of the soul."

"Until... you shift." 

"Just so." 

"Which... I am *calling* you to do?" 

Treville smiles ruefully. "Like I said — the dog is eager for you." 

Aramis nods slowly, lowering his hand. "And... your leathers, your brassard... that is what *your* soul lives in." 

"Just so."

Another nod, and then Aramis turns back to Jason — and his guests. "Would I call on *you* to shift by reaching for either of... them?" 

Jason smiles. "Yes. Though Etrigan and I keep to firm schedules for that sort of thing. Let's work on fine-tuning your sight, shall we?" 

"I — I — yes! Teach me more!" 

"Of course. Right now, you're seeing basically everything you *can* see about us without having shared blood. The depth of your sight is perfect and strong, just as it should be. However, you wished to see mon amant's *body*, yes?" 

"Oh — *yes*." 

"*That* requires somewhat less depth —" 

"And less — strength?" 

"Never let go of your power. Always keep yourself cloaked in it — we live in a dangerous world, mon grand. *But*, just as a warrior may *lower* their sword when they are not *actively* in battle...?" 

And Aramis blinks and considers — 

They can all feel him touching and holding and *examining* the power within him — 

Holding it even closer to himself for long moments, burning bright and *fierce* — 

And then very clearly setting the power at his metaphorical hip. He is alive to his own potential, capable of all *sorts* of mayhem, but — banked. 

And staring fixedly at Treville's lower abdomen. 

Jason laughs softly. "Perfect. Kneel *up*, amant." 

"*Absolutely*," Treville says, and does just that. 

Aramis cocks his head to the side — 

Opens his mouth — 

*Closes* his mouth — 

Jason laughs more. "If you have any *questions* —"

"Please lift your cock!" 

Treville bites the tip of his tongue — and does just *that*. 

And Aramis swallows and nods — 

And stares —

And *studies* — 

His gaze isn't quite a *caress*, but Treville's cock doesn't want to *hear* that — 

No, focus — "Yes, son?" 

"Your balls are *furry*." 

"That they are —" 

"Lower." And Aramis licks his lips and keeps *staring*, keeps —

His gaze is traveling all *over* Treville's crotch and — 

"Lower your cock again, please!" 

"Well, that's going to be difficult," Treville says, and laughs ruefully.

Aramis blinks and looks *worried* —

No, no — Treville makes a soothing gesture. "It's all right, son. You can examine me at will. I'm just going to be a little hard when you do." 

"I — I do not mean —" 

"We know you don't," Jason says, gently. "All is well." 

"*All* is well," Treville says, and holds his cock down. "Is this all right?" 

"I only —" Aramis is flushing hard. "I wish to know... how big the knot grows." 

"It varies with his level of arousal, and how long he's gone *without* knotting someone," Jason says, and grins. "As an example: Tonight, he'd gone *weeks* without knotting *anyone*, and, as a result, his knot grew magnificently large within me." 

"Oh." 

"That is *one* of the reasons why I used my shadows to prepare my arse so thoroughly." 

"We are *firm* believers in preparation, son —" 

"I." And Aramis flushes again —

Looks down at the *duvet* — 

*Grips* at the duvet with his strong hands — 

"Son?"

"You may tell us anything, at any time," Jason says.

Aramis nods slowly, and silently. 

And stays silent for long moments except for his ragged breathing. He — 

He's in *distress* — 

"Son..." 

"Messieurs." 

"We're listening," Jason says, gently. 

And, when Aramis looks up, there's a light sheen of sweat on his face, and his eyes are wide and dark and so — 

So — *open* with *need* — 

"When I would give myself to the soldiers, the old campaigners, who rode through my village on their way to more important places —" And he stops, and swallows, and looks at both of them — 

Studies them for their reactions — 

Looks *deep* within them —

"Did they know how lucky they were, son? Did they treat you right?" 

Aramis pants and makes a softly *hurt* noise — 

"Did they give you what you *needed*," Jason says.

"Always! They always — and they were so kind, and so gentle, and so good to me!" 

Treville blows out a breath and retracts his plans to hunt down old soldiers and remove their cocks *slowly* — "*Good* —" 

"I — I —" 

"They cherished you," Jason says. "Didn't they." 

Aramis moans, flushing even more deeply. "Most of them were so gentle — *too* gentle sometimes — but. I wanted. I always wanted to run away to *join* them!" 

Treville shivers. "And... they touched you sweetly, son?" 

"Oh, yes, *yes*! Their hard hands, all over me, so *carefully*. I thought sex must always... must always be..." And then Aramis frowns darkly. 

Treville closes his hands into fists. "I want..." 

Aramis stares at his fists — and then looks up into his eyes, looks up and studies him and — 

And some part of him already knows the threat he feels isn't for him, but — 

(Clear it *up*, amant.) 

Yes. Right now. "I want to take everyone who's ever hurt you and rip them *apart*, son." 

Aramis — pants. "You mean that." 

Treville nods. 

"If, perhaps, you could give us... hints," Jason says. "Places to *look*..."

Aramis turns to stare at Jason, wide-eyed still —

"We are not in the way of letting those who injure children live, mon grand." 

And then Aramis narrows his eyes and bares his teeth. "Neither am *I*. You will teach me. You will *both* teach me, and *I* will take my satisfaction —" 

"Oh, son," Treville says, and grins. "*Happily*." 

Aramis licks his lips and nods. "And. I will say... one more thing." 

"Yes, son?" 

Jason grins. "I'm all ears." 

"You say that you believe in *preparing* your lovers for your mighty cock, your mighty *knot*?" 

Treville blinks. "I do, yes —" 

"I do not always *like* to be adequately-prepared before a fuck, M'sieu. Sometimes I wish to be *forced* open by a cock —" 

Treville's traitorous, *stupid* cock jerks *hard* for that — 

And Aramis nods and shivers. "Perhaps Messieurs will enjoy this very thing... at some point." 

Jason — growls. "Whenever you wish, mon grand." 

Aramis licks his lips and nods again — and then looks to Treville. 

And that — Treville laughs. "You've made me ache to treat you *softly*, son. To *cherish* you." 

"Amant. We both know there are many, many ways to cherish a lover." 

Treville rumbles and rumbles and rolls his head on his neck. "So we do. So we do. Anything you want, Aramis. Anything you crave." 

Aramis looks down again. 

"What's that, now —" 

"I want. I want to pet the dog." He looks up again fast — "Just pet! I — is that. Is that possible?" 

"Oh, son. It's possible and *encouraged*," Treville says. "Jason?" 

"Shift away, amant. We *all* need it." 

Treville rumbles and does just that, shrinking and changing and yes yes Jason had said soon but not this soon!

And the boy is here!

The boy is laughing and reaching for him — 

Offering his hands, just right, just right — 

The dog sniffs and sniffs and smells sadness and worry and tension, but also hope, so much — 

The dog has to make it better! He licks and licks — 

And licks the boy's face — 

The boy is laughing more — 

Kissing the dog's nose!

So nice!

The dog puts his nose right back to see if the boy will do it again — he does! And he licks it, too!

So *nice*! But it tickles, and the dog has to scramble back to sneeze, and there's licking to do, so he keeps his nose out of the way — 

Or tries to, because the boy is scratching his ears — 

The boy knows all the good things!

The boy is so — does he have a name? Jason Jason Jason does he have a name? 

(Aramis, hound.) 

Aramis? Aramis! Aramis Aramis! The dog will call him that, and then when Aramis learns how to talk to him, it will be just right. 

(Yes, it will,) Jason says, and laughs softly. 

The dog pounces — carefully, carefully — on the boy — 

"Oof!" 

And licks him thoroughly. 

He's been gone a long time. He's been missing from their pack forever! 

But now he's home.


	6. The family resemblance really is striking.

Treville wakes up more or less in a pile of himself on top of the duvet, which means he'd gone to sleep shifted, which — 

Aramis is curled round him still. 

Fast asleep. 

Pressed *close* — 

"I didn't have the heart to disturb either of you," Jason says, quietly, from the desk. 

Treville smiles down at their boy and — yes, he's rumbling. He's like to spend the *day* rumbling if it continues like this — 

Aramis pats at him with sleepy clumsiness and frowns, muttering incoherently. 

(I daresay he's looking for your fur.) 

I'm tempted to shift again.

(The dog would appreciate it...) 

Treville looks up. You wouldn't, though. 

(I wouldn't say that. I missed *him*, too. But the dog *will* insist on a hunt today, and I had other plans.) 

Mm. There are so many guns in this house that need to be shot by this boy...

(Amant.) 

Yes, yes, *magic*. He can do his shooting on the grounds. Probably while you're teaching him. 

(*You* could teach him, too, you know.) 

I doubt it — 

(You're a *brilliant* teacher!) 

Of *tactics*. And *swordsmanship*. And *shooting*. Other things. I've never once tried to teach someone how to do what *we* do.

Jason glares at him — (Bloody well start!) 

Treville lolls his tongue. Don't wanna. 

(Why don't *I* horsewhip you more often?) 

I —

Aramis smacks him and mutters more. 

Treville turns back to him — Is he dreaming, do you think?

(Almost certainly, but — )

And Aramis starts patting at Treville again, ranging farther and frowning *harder* as he very, very clearly looks for the dog and finds — only — the man. 

This is heartbreaking, Jason — 

(Don't *shift*. And I *never* say that, so *listen*.) 

But — 

This time, Aramis's sleepy mutters clearly contain the word 'dog'. 

Treville *looks* at Jason. 

Jason looks back at him sourly. (We'll get him a *spaniel*.) 

We will *not* — 

(Move *away* from him so he doesn't wake *up*.) 

Treville mutters under *his* breath and eases himself out of range of those smacks — just as one lands in his *hair* — 

Aramis *grips* and *yanks* — 

"*Fuck* —" 

"What — what is — wherezza dog."

"Now you've done it," Jason says. 

"*Me*?" 

"Want the dog," Aramis says, and yawns hugely — and doesn't ease his *death*-grip on Treville's hair. 

He may need to be barbered more often. For now — "The dog — nn. The dog's not here, son —" 

Aramis growls and yanks *harder* — 

"*Ow* —" 

Jason sighs happily. "I see the family resemblance already." 

"Wherezza dog." 

Treville licks his lips and reaches up to pry Aramis's fingers — gently, *gently* — from his hair — 

Somehow — 

Aramis makes a soft, unhappy noise that is absolutely *unbearable* and Treville moves his hands away immediately. 

"Son —" 

"Wherezza dog." 

"Fuck. I —"

"Want the dog."

"Good luck introducing our boy to the concept of reveille, by the way, amant." 

"Don't you have a rotund pony to fellate?" 

"I've decided to table that until after lunch. This is much more entertaining." 

Treville growls — 

Aramis makes an *interested* noise — "Dog? Wherezza dog?"

"*I'm* the dog — I — Aramis. Could you wake up a little more, please? I promise you can go *right* back to sleep in a minute."

Silence. 

Silence. 

Death-grip — 

"Aramis..." 

Aramis snores. 

Jason snickers like a *boy* — 

"Dog?" And Aramis *hauls* Treville's head back by the hair until they're looking at each other upside down. 

Aramis blinks and frowns. 

"Not the dog."

Treville lets his expression quirk on his face. "No, son. I'm not. Do you think you could let go of my hair while I still have some?"

Aramis frowns harder, as if they've asked him to solve the hardest possible equation — "Want the dog." 

Jason wheezes. 

"You've spent a long time without a companion animal of your own, haven't you, son." 

Aramis nods. 

"How would you like to go out and pick a horse for yourself? We'll buy one for you —" 

And then Aramis is up and out of the bed — 

At the *door* — 

"I will be dressed and ready in five minutes!" 

"I —" 

"Three!" 

And then he's gone. 

Treville blinks. 

Licks his lips. 

Unfolds himself from the decidedly odd position he's found himself in — 

Jason is *choking* on his own laughter —

Treville sighs and kisses the top of his head. "C'mon, up, lover. We have to put on *real* clothes, after all."


	7. They *might* like each other a little bit.

Gabrielle — a fleet-footed and spirited bay — and Aramis take one look at each other and fall head over heels in love. 

Treville *will* still be buying another horse or two for Aramis to raise as his own, but this is a good start, especially since he starts up an excited and *easygoing* conversation with the stableboys about Gabrielle's quirks and preferences while he's cooing to her and brushing out her mane. 

The only thing for it is to postpone breakfast for an hour's ride around the grounds — after sending the stableboys back into the city with their hired mounts and the promises that, yes, they'll take care of themselves and the horses, too. 

Aramis pays far more attention to Gabrielle than he does to the grounds by daylight — he's delighted with her, and asks countless questions about her sire and dam, about what Treville does when he can't get the right diet for her or the other horses — 

"It hasn't been a problem —" 

"But *if*." 

"I still like him better than you," Jason says, humming idly. 

Treville salutes him. 

Aramis is still waiting for a good answer. Well enough. 

"It's like this, son: I was raised in the military. Outfitting soldiers — and horses are soldiers, too — is part of the math I do daily as a matter of course. I can't *relax* unless I know my soldiers have enough of *everything* they could *possibly* need for a good six months to a year, and so, every day, I do what's necessary to make that happen."

"Every day?" 

Treville grins. "Right now, a part of me is *only* working out what's to be done with the butcher who sent us bad bacon last week, how exactly to crack the spine of the leather-workers' guild so they'll finally do right by us on our armor, how *exactly* to make nice to the boy-king so the considerations *he* owes to the Musketeers as a whole will flow down upon us like blessings from above... do you see?" 

Aramis blinks, and for a moment it seems like he's *not* paying attention to Gabrielle. "Were you making these calculations last *night*?" 

"All the time, son. All the time. I was doing them before I took the promotion — all the lieutenants are — and I daresay Laurent will *still* be doing them when he's *ninety*. It gets in you. It's just another kind of reflex, in a way." 

Aramis nods thoughtfully. 

"What mon amant is *not* saying," Jason says, and gives his black Claudine a stroke — she's friskier than usual, because *she's* missed him, *too* — "is that he's a born officer. He was made for the position of Captain. Laurent was grooming him for it long before *he* had it, himself." 

"Jason —" 

"Are you *honestly* about to protest that?" 

Treville opens his mouth — and closes it. Laurent had definitely been grooming him. 

Laurent had openly *admitted* doing just *that* *years* ago — 

("Brother, the very thought of someone other than you taking the position of Captain after me is far too laughable to even be anathema.") 

(*That*.) 

Right. Treville turns to smile ruefully at Aramis. "I never thought of myself as an officer when I was coming up, son."

"No? Then what?" 

"A soldier, and the brother to my loves. That's all." 

Jason hums. "They called him 'Fearless'. They called him 'meneur'. They called him *many* things, and let him always lead in the most important ways —" 

"Laurent planned the *missions* —" 

"Until he left that in your hands, as well. You weren't even a lieutenant by the time he was doing that, were you." 

Treville opens his *mouth* — "Right, I'm just going to shut my gob now." 

"Probably wise," Jason says. "Probably." 

"M'sieu is a leader of men," Aramis says quietly. 

Jason grins. "He always has been." 

"What *Jason* isn't telling you —" 

"Amant —" 

"What he somehow forgot to *mention* last night —" 

"Oh, don't, really —" 

"What? What is it?" 

Treville laughs evilly. 

"Tell me!" 

Jason sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

"Tell me now!" 

Treville grins. "Jason — when he was Guthlac of Mercia — was one of the Knights of the Round Table —" 

Aramis gasps — 

"And I know you're *precisely* educated enough to know what that means." 

Aramis *whips* his head round to stare at Jason. 

Treville smirks. "He rode with them from the time he was squired at age nine to a Ser Darwyn..." 

Jason sighs. "A wonderful man. A beautiful, brave, kind, *good* man. He stood for me when I was knighted at fifteen, and... and it didn't end *well*." 

"But —" 

"It ended *catastrophically* badly. For *everyone*." 

"But tell me —" 

Jason looks pained.

And... Aramis stops. 

He... stops. 

And Jason *blinks* — "Don't do that." 

"I will do what I like!" 

Jason coughs a shocked laugh —

Treville *barks* one — 

And Aramis smiles slyly. "I have decided to be more... friendly."

"*Have* you," Jason says. 

"Provisionally!"

"Oh, of course —" 

"I may change my mind at *any* time for *any* reason —" 

"Or no reason at all?" And Treville leans in just a little — his black Éventreur has mellowed enough over the years to allow it. 

"Or *no* reason at all!"

"Hmm. Just what, precisely, does *friendliness* entail, mon grand?"

"Many questions. *Much* conversation." 

"I like *that*," Treville says. 

"And..."

"Mm?"

Aramis looks at them both a little shyly.

"What is it, mon grand? What can we do for you?" 

"I will still call you both M'sieu. *But*... I am thinking about other things." 

Jason grins broadly — 

Treville does *just* the same. 

They ride.


	8. Let's feed some of those appetites.

There was dill in his eggs this morning, which Treville isn't best pleased about, but the bacon was good, and plentiful, and *Aramis* had liked them, and that's the most important thing. 

Cook had even grunted twice when Aramis had thanked him, which is more conversation than Treville has gotten out of the man in three years. Maybe these experiments in poncing up the cooking *will* go well. 

For now...

"It's time for your next lesson, mon grand." 

Aramis takes a sip of his watered wine and nods. "I am ready." 

"For this, I'm actually rather pleased that you didn't yet take our offer — our *request* — to share blood. The lesson would be impossible otherwise." 

"Yes?" 

Jason inclines his head. "You're going to use your considerable power to put a thought — any thought — in my mind." 

Aramis winces and shrinks back. "But — what if —" 

Jason raises two long fingers. "You're not to worry, mon grand. Even if you lose control, *I* will not. Your thoughts, however dark, however violent, however *virulent*, *will* not overpower me." 

Aramis searches Jason for long moments —

"I have given this lesson many times. I have seen many, many terrible things. But, remember, mon grand: Even if one of your thoughts takes hold of my imagination somehow, *I do not sleep*. It will be like a moth battering itself against a window. There will be no true path of entry." 

Aramis licks his lips and nods — and then he and Jason both can feel him reaching for his power, the power that he hadn't pushed far away from himself since last night. 

It's all right there for him, just as it should be, though Treville can see that he's concentrating a little too deeply, taking himself away from the conscious world a little too much — 

He's going to have to learn how to watch his back when he's casting — there. 

He's focusing just that much harder, pushing himself *at* Jason — 

And Jason is pushing him back, just as he should. "No, mon grand, not that." 

"What — no? What did I do wrong? That was — that was what I did. Before," Aramis says, and looks down. 

Jason rests his hand *next* to Aramis's. "And that is a blunt, but *effective* method to use with people who are not magic-users, and cannot use the vulnerability you leave yourself with against you." And Jason raises an eyebrow. 

Aramis frowns in confusion — 

Treville leans in. "You're excellent with your dagger, son. You never leave yourself too open," he says, and raises both eyebrows.

"No! I do *not*. Even if doing so will allow you a stronger, faster slash, the vulnerability it leaves — I see. I see," he says, and turns back to Jason. "I should use more directed, *shorter* pushes." 

"Just one push is all *you'll* need, mon grand, I assure you." 

Aramis firms his lips into a hard line — 

Concentrates — 

Slips too deep again, but that can be fixed once they get the basics down — 

Jason *glitters* at him — 

And there's no time for Treville to come up with a suitably rude response to that before Aramis bloody well *stabs* Jason with his power, short and sharp and neat — 

Treville can *feel* Jason containing it somehow — it's not his magic; *he* would just block it — 

And Jason grins broadly. "Very, very good, mon grand." 

"Nn — I don't want to be good at this. I don't —" 

"You do." 

"Do not tell me what I want!" 

"You *want* to be good at this, because it will be a weapon that is shaped and molded to your hand and your hand *alone* — when I'm done with you —" 

"I do not —" 

"You felt the violence of the act you committed. You felt the suffering you *could've* caused — had you not tried very hard to give me many, many beautiful dreams of riding that lovely horse you grew up with." 

"*Yes*!" 

"You felt yourself seeking out the weak spaces I left for you in my armour. You felt yourself a predator —" 

"I do not *mind* this thing!" 

"No? It's only the weapon?" 

"*Yes*. You — you *know* what this weapon *does*!" 

Jason folds his arms together on the table. "I do, mon grand. I do. And believe me that I am *not* saying that this is a weapon you *should* use *often*, or even more often than *rarely*." 

Aramis blinks. "You... are not?" 

"I am not," Jason says, quietly. "But, between the two of us, you *will* have an arsenal at your disposal that will be beautiful and *terrible* to behold —" 

"I do not *wish* —" 

"Son," Treville says, and — it stops Aramis, just a little. 

He *looks* at Treville, wide-eyed and needing more than he *has* — 

Treville nods. "Son. You're going to need this someday. It *will* save your life — or the life of someone you care for very deeply. It will *be* there for you. It will be there when nothing else *is*. And we need you to have it." 

Aramis inhales sharply. "You... need me safe." 

"Always." 

"You need me *dangerous*." 

"*Always*." 

"And while you have wanted both of those things in other ways," Jason says, "the fact remains that you have wanted both of those things, full *stop*. Take them from us. Take them from our *hands*." 

Aramis shudders and pants — and turns to look at Jason, to study him — "Why are you still... still..."

"Offering you vulnerabilities to attack? The lesson isn't over, mon grand." 

Aramis shudders *again* — and doesn't *quite* slump. "What did I do wrong?" 

Jason closes his eyes for a long moment — and then opens them again. "Thank you." 

"Why are you *thanking* me?" 

"For allowing us to protect you, son. Every chance you give us to do that will earn our gratitude," Treville says. 

"I —" Aramis growls and pulls his dagger from his belt, slashing his forearm open in one smooth move. 

Treville reflexively keeps the wound from bleeding — 

"What what —" 

"Wait one moment, mon grand —" 

"*No*. I am — I need to feel you both right *now*! I need to — I can *tell* that if I do — *something* with my power I will be able to *read* you both, but I don't want that. I don't — I want your *honesty*. I want your *kinship*. I want your — your." And Aramis stops and swallows, looking back and forth between them. "Do you want me? Truly?" 

Jason growls — "*Yes*."

And Treville is already taking Aramis's blade and slashing his own forearm, offering, needing — "Take mine first, son." 

Aramis pants. "H-how much?" 

"Just a little. I'll stop you when it's —" 

But Aramis's soft mouth is already pressed to Treville's arm, already —

He's sucking, licking — 

Sucking *hard* — 

*Treville* growls — 

Pants — 

Strokes just his hair, just — 

Just his hair... 

And Aramis shudders hard, stiffens and *moans* as the connections form between them, as he makes himself *kin* and shares in Treville's power — 

His *vitality* — 

And yes, there were just a few wounds and bruises from last night and before, things the All-Mother won't stand for in her children — or her children's packs. And now Aramis is lapping hungrily, sucking and mouthing at the wound as, Treville knows, he feels better than he's ever felt in his *life*. More alive, more connected, more connected to the earth and all Her power — 

He's hard — 

He's *hard* — and he's had enough. 

Treville pushes him away, gentle and firm. as he closes the wound on his arm. 

"No, please, I want more!" 

Treville strokes Aramis's face — and smiles. Anytime. But. 

(Oh. *Oh*! I can hear I can hear I can hear *you*!) 

And feel me. Can't you? 

And the *blast* of Aramis's focus, Aramis's *power* is bright and large and *hot*, *blinding* — 

Shh, son, I'm right here... 

(I I.) 

That's right. You can feel now...

(I I am your son!) 

My perfect boy — 

(No —) 

I'm afraid you don't get a vote on that, Treville says, and winks. 

And Aramis gasps laughter — 

Covers his mouth — 

Treville tugs his hand away. Give me all of your laughter *always*. 

(Daddy...) 

*Treville* gasps — 

(Do you like that?) 

I do, son. I do, and I can tell... that you've been thinking about it. Deciding whether or not you could accept it. I can tell you haven't quite decided *yet* — 

"*Daddy*," Aramis says, and *Jason* grunts — 

And Aramis moves close, pressing his arm to Treville's lips — 

Treville lets Aramis's wound *bleed* — 

Treville *sucks* — 

Cradles Aramis's arm and *sucks* — 

And Aramis moans low. "I feel my Daddy all through me now..." 

Treville's cock *jerks* in his breeches — 

Aramis laughs hungrily — "Your big cock is ready for me, Daddy? Is the knot ready, as well, or does that come later?" 

Treville growls into the wound and laps up the sweet-iron *tang* of Aramis's rich blood like the hound he is — 

"Jason, will you tell me?" 

"Hmm. Is that what you wish to call me, mon grand?"

"You know it is *not*, but — I do not feel you, yet. I — I need a little —" 

"You'll have it. Let your Daddy clutch you for just a moment. Let me see that, please." 

Aramis whimpers — 

Presses *closer* — 

And Treville wraps one arm around him and clutches him closer still, holds him, *holds* him — 

Aramis *moans* — "No one — no one has held me like this in so *long* —" 

"And you can feel everything he feels for you. You can feel the exquisite *solidity*... of his love for you." 

Aramis makes a hurt, needy noise and kisses the top of Treville's head, kisses him there over and over again, soft and hungry and sweet — 

Treville licks the wound closed, opens himself to the Mother to *formally* request the boon of her regard for his son —

His beautiful son — 

"Oh — I feel —" And Aramis stiffens and goes rigid under the measuring *stare* of the goddess — 

She points out, again, Jason's corruption, and how it's flowing through both of them now — if not completely in Aramis's case — 

And Treville asks her again to leave it be. It may not belong there, but it's theirs. 

She scolds them both gently and blesses them hard, filling them and riding them with enough raw *power* to protect them both for quite some time. And then she leaves them, and Aramis slumps — 

Treville catches him and pulls him close, sniffing and nuzzling and — no, not that. Not that. 

(Daddy...?) 

"What do *you* need right now, son? What do you want?" 

Aramis looks at him, staring at Treville's mouth and licking his lips — and remembering being kissed by old campaigners in darkened inns and haylofts and stables and meadows. 

Stubbled faces and scarred faces and lips held soft...

That's exactly what Treville gives him, keeping his lips only slightly parted. Invitation, not demand. He kisses Aramis that way a dozen times, and then licks his face slowly and lovingly. 

"*Oh* —" 

Licks his mouth — 

"Mm —" 

His cheeks and the backs of his ears — 

"Daddy, that tickles —" 

"Too much?"

"Daddy, I am growing accustomed to calling you Daddy!" 

Treville rumbles a laugh. "Forcibly, son?" 

"And at speed!" And he turns to look at Jason. "Please come here? I do not wish to leave my Daddy's lap." 

Jason raises an eyebrow. "You may have him to yourself for a time, if you wish..." 

"No —" 

"Wait," Jason says, and holds his fingers up. "We all know you aren't yet *positive* that you want all three of us together for your first time with us. I only ask that you move slowly, and make no *hasty* decisions."

Aramis nods. "I will listen to this advice. It is good sense!" 

Jason smiles. "I'm glad you feel that way. Now —" 

"Come *here*!" 

Jason laughs softly, and picks the knife up as he comes. And then he sits on the edge of the table closest to them. "Would you have my blood?"

"Yes!" 

"Very well," Jason says, slashing his arm and offering the wound. "As an aside, this *will* corrupt your soul. Any number of gods — including mon amant's — will object —" 

Aramis *jumps* when their skin touches, but it's milder than it would've been if Treville hadn't corrupted him first — 

(Thank you *very* much...) 

And Jason is gripping at his own knee while Aramis sucks, straining *hard* — 

Harder than even the arousal would *explain* — until Treville notices the shadows gathering at every corner of the room. 

The shadows gathering to swallow and *take*. 

It won't be long before Aramis *notices* that — 

(We will not *hide* —) 

No. No, we won't, Treville says, cupping Aramis's belly and rubbing small, soothing circles —

(Daddy, his blood is so *strong*!) 

In a way, you're tasting the blood of three men — and more than men. 

(I feel...) 

What do you feel? 

(He's all *around* me!) 

Those are his shadows... for the most part — 

And Aramis's laughter, inside, is more than a little hysterical. 

Son — 

(I feel all of his *years* — oh.) 

(I will always strive to protect you from them, mon grand.) 

(Jason...) 

(I will always — oh, mon grand, I want to ask you to search me for the answers you need and I want to tell you to do nothing of the *kind*.) 

(I am no *coward*,) Aramis says, and blazes between them again, bright and wild and hungry and *seeking* — and intermittently sharing what he finds. He doesn't have the control not to. 

Here is Jason making love to Morgan, pointedly doing his best to be a better lover to her than anyone she'd had before, and thus more truly making love to his own fears and insecurities. 

Here is Jason losing *control* as he makes love to Morgan, as he clutches her, bites, fucks her harder and harder, bites her *mouth* — 

She yells — 

She laughs and yells and urges him on — 

Here is Jason strung up and wounded in dozens of places, covered in filth both numinous and not, straining and fighting against the rituals and bindings Morgan is laying on him — 

Here is Jason flickering back and forth between himself and Etrigan, tearing themselves free and fighting Morgan tooth and claw and fist — and with massive amounts of eldritch energy. 

The scars they're leaving on the earth... 

Here is Jason selling his abilities for knowledge, for help, for anything to get the demon out of his soul — 

Selling himself to lower and lower beings, honestly *evil* beings — 

Anyone he *thought* could free him from Etrigan — and a neverending life on everyone's terms but his own. 

Here is Jason falling asleep — and into a dream of losing everyone he'd ever loved, everyone he'd ever so much as cared for, everyone he'd ever *liked*. 

A dream of killing — and the inescapable knowledge that he wouldn't wake up anymore, that it would go on and on and on, that he had earned just this, that he was *responsible* for the deaths of enough of his loved ones — 

Morgan — 

Her flesh was in his *teeth* — 

Here is Etrigan waking them both up and setting them to hunt, making *pact* with Jason for the very first time so that they might find their attacker. 

They'd found him quickly. A spirit-mage with more power than self-preservation. 

A spirit-mage whose love they'd cursed — murdered — while serving the interests of one demon or another — 

While trying to *free* themselves — 

And there was nothing to be done. 

There was — 

What explanation could be given? That they were too selfish to share a soul? That they were too cowardly for immortality? 

There was nothing they could say, or do, to turn the spirit-mage's vengeance from them, and so they'd murdered him, too. 

Gently. 

And begged a boon from an earth-mage that his soul might be cared for. 

And regrouped. 

And began the process of making amends. 

Here is Jason with his first student, a blood-mage of middling power who is absolutely terrified of him. 

Jason had all but kidnapped the boy. 

He doesn't do much better with the next three... but they all learn, and learn from Jason's mistakes. 

Here is Jason with an earth-mage who doesn't trust him, won't touch him, won't *talk* to him — until Jason saves his familiar's pups from a blood-sickness the earth-mage can't touch. 

Here is Jason learning *how* to touch, and share, and *be* with others despite his growing corruption, despite the Mother-less being growing within him, despite everything that makes him... other. 

The answer was always blood. 

Here is the earth-mage playing with him, sharing with him, rolling with him in the dirt and laughing, animal and panted. 

Here is Jason's wonder. 

Here is Jason's *enchantment*, and yearning, and yearning after earth-mages *forevermore*. 

He is not impressed with this growing thing called 'civilization'. 

Here is Jason learning to make love again, with the slowness of *rock*, and all the chagrin in the world. 

He has plans and wishes for how to make love to the people — the good, *warm* people — who enter his life now, but his hungers and desires are something else. Something darker and more *grasping*. 

His lovers know it — *sense* it, even when he tries to hide it. 

Here is Jason being named a liar. 

Here is Jason being left. 

Aramis makes a hurt sound as he sucks — 

As he *bites* — 

The shadows have thickened and come *closer* — 

And here is Jason being honest, *honest*, and sharing with a lover every desperate secret he can stand to allow out of his *mouth* — 

Here is Jason binding her to the bed and tasting her everywhere while she begs for relief — 

While she sobs and spends again and again —

Here is Jason binding her again when she comes back with wonder in her eyes, confusion, curiosity — 

The whip falls — 

He bites the wounds — 

He heals her *while* he fucks her, while she *weeps*, and they're spending themselves blind, shouting themselves *hoarse* — 

Here is Jason *binding* her, and the collar is magical, and she's human, she won't live *long* — 

The ability Jason has had to pass on his immortality more recently is magic that's come from a re-balancing of the *spheres* —

But they'll have had this time. 

And Jason is panting, shaking, sweating as he strains to give everything without *overwhelming*. (I must — I *must* —) 

(*I* must have *more*!) 

"Oh, mon grand, I —" And Jason growls and *grips* Aramis's left hand — 

Snuffles at his wrist like an animal — and bites. 

Bites *deep* — 

Aramis cries *out* — and they all feel his cock throb for it. They — 

Treville growls and bites Aramis's *throat* — 

"*Ai* — Daddy — Master —" 

*Jason* growls, and the shadows are close enough to skirl round their ankles —

To creep up and up — 

"What — what is —" 

Every part of us wants you, son...

And Aramis moans for that, grinds down against Treville's *cock* — 

Treville growls and bites *harder* — 

"I — I —" 

Tell us everything, son —

(Tell us what you *want*.) 

"I want you! I want you both!"

And they can feel the truth of that, and the frustrated confusion of it, too — Aramis wants to make love in very different ways with his Daddy and his Master, wants to try very different *things* with them — 

(Compromise is the heart of love, mon grand,) Jason says, and slurps his way *off* Aramis's wound — 

"Ah — I want *no* compromises!" 

Jason laughs and licks the wound closed —

Treville nibbles a path to Aramis's ear —

"Oh —" 

"Compromise, in this way, will let you have us both, son." 

"But —" 

"You wish to please us," Jason says, and cups Aramis's chin, turning him gently to face him. 

"*Yes*!" 

"You will."

"I want to please you *powerfully*, Master. I want —" But Aramis doesn't finish the thought.

Jason raises an eyebrow. 

"You *know* what I am *thinking*, Master! I can *feel* it!" 

"And you know that I prefer my lovers to... give," Jason says. 

Aramis grunts and *flushes* — "Yes? This is... a sexual thing?" 

"It's more than only sexual, mon grand. It's an act of *submission*, and, as such, it is an act of love, and respect, and fealty," Jason says, and strokes Aramis's smooth chin with his fingertips. "I believe you can imagine how much such things mean to one such as me." 

Treville nips Aramis's ear. "And me, as an aside, though I need it a *little* less." 

Aramis moans. "My Master wants this thing. My Master *needs* this thing." 

"Yes," Jason says, and strokes Aramis's mouth — 

And Aramis settles, relaxing himself right there on Treville's lap. "My Master — and Daddy — will have it," he says, and nods firmly. "I wish to please you both, as you know, but I also wish to be a good enough lover that you will keep all of your promises, all of your good promises —" 

"Son —" 

"This is not *paying* you," Aramis says with no little asperity. "You *know* that I desire you both. That you have made me..." He licks his lips and Jason's fingertips. "I want to be good." 

"You will be. You *are*," Jason says —

"And you don't have to do *anything* to make us keep our promises but be yourself, son," Treville says —

"Do listen to him, mon grand. Even after this, there will be no demands, no expectations but that you work hard for us." 

"What... what is *this*? What will it be?" But Aramis settles that much more, breathes that much deeper. 

And Treville thinks about asking Aramis to tell them one more time what he wants — but. He nips Aramis's ear again. "You let me taste you..." 

"Yes — my blood —" 

"And your skin," Treville says, and licks just in front of Aramis's ear. "Your salty *sweat*." 

Aramis grunts — 

"I want more, son. I want to taste —" 

"My *arse*?" 

Treville laughs hungrily. "*Always*. Will you bend for me? Will you lift your arse high?" 

Aramis pants — 

Spreads his *legs* over Treville's *lap* — 

Treville can't stop himself from *cupping* Aramis's cock through his trousers — 

Aramis groans and *bucks* — 

"Oh, son..." 

"I — *I* —" 

"We'll give you what you *want*," Treville says, and squeezes carefully — 

Aramis *shouts* — 

Stiffens and *bursts* out with fresh sweat — but then he stiffens more, wrongly, and pushes Treville's hand away from himself — 

"Son?" 

"I — I — *Master*."

"I am here, mon grand. What do you need?" And Jason is — just a little flushed, hot with new blood and *hunger*. 

"I need — I need you to help me focus! I need — there is too much! I am too —" 

"Stand," Jason says, and licks his lips. 

Aramis moans and does it. 

"Precede us upstairs, to your Daddy's suite." 

"Oh — yes, Master —" 

And Jason leans in and kisses Aramis hard, kisses him deeply, wetly — 

"*Mm* —" Aramis reaches to touch — 

And Jason locks Aramis's arms behind his back with a shadow. 

Aramis *groans* into Jason's mouth and *shakes*, and the scents of his intimidation are rising, but so are the scents of his arousal. *This* is what he needs. 

Treville stands, too, and makes love to the sides of his throat, biting harder than before — 

Just a little — 

Aramis writhes in place and groans *louder* — 

Pushes back *against* Treville — 

*Offers* himself, and they all know that Jason would let Treville take right now, that Jason would *indulge* him — 

But — 

Compromise. Treville strokes up to Aramis's shoulders and squeezes them firmly. "Listen to your Master now." 

Aramis nods into Jason's kiss, leans into it — 

(He's lapping and teasing at my tongue, amant...) 

Oh... good *boy*, Treville says, and squeezes Aramis's shoulders again — 

(I am no *virgin* —) 

(Shh,) Jason says, and pulls back, licking his lips. 

Aramis looks up and blinks — (You would have me silent?) 

Jason laughs. "For now. Think of it as an experiment — I'm altogether unsure about it myself, especially since mon amant is looking so grim about the whole thing." 

Aramis looks at *him* — 

Treville tries and fails not to look grim — 

And Aramis giggles like a child — and doesn't try to cover his mouth. Which is good, because he's *restrained*, but the lack of even an attempt...

Treville sighs. "Much better." 

"Agreed. Ignore *entirely* my order to be silent and continue up the stairs," Jason says. 

Aramis hums and does just that, moving with grace and speed despite the binding. "My Master has enjoyed silent lovers in the past?" 

"Your Master has enjoyed binding his lovers to *utter* stillness in the past," Jason says, and they follow their boy.

"But — stopping even their voices?" 

"Stopping even their breath, mon grand. Utter control. Utter... mastery." 

"And this is what you wish with me? I would not mind trying it —"

"Perhaps when the two of us are alone," Jason says, and strokes Aramis's back with a shadow — 

"Oh! That is not — that was a shadow?" 

"Yes, it was." 

"And you would bind me with shadows?" 

"Unless you wished something else," Jason says. "But the shadows are much more efficient, and entirely —" 

"Under your *control*," Aramis says, and jogs up the stairs easily. "I see this thing! Have you done this with Daddy?" 

"Many times, son. He gave me a taste for it *almost* right away." 

"Almost?" And Aramis is impatiently twiddling his thumbs together as he jogs down the halls — 

Jason hums again. "When we first met, mon amant had *never* truly bent for anyone." 

"I had to be eased into things a bit —" 

Jason *coughs* — 

"What? You didn't bind me up *completely* the first time —" 

"Not while you were *conscious*, anyway..." 

*Aramis* coughs and trips — 

Jason catches him with his shadows. "Steady, mon grand." 

"I — yes, Master," Aramis says, and waits. They're not *quite* in front of Treville's suite. 

Treville moves in front of *Aramis* and examines him — wide eyes, parted lips, hard cock under those trousers — "Do you like the idea of being touched while you're sleeping, son?" 

"I — I do not know!" (Perhaps!) 

"That sort of thing can be dangerous with mages," Jason says, and sends more shadows to pet Aramis, and stroke him, and *caress* him — 

Aramis shivers and moans. "Because — we attack?" 

"Precipitously and violently, at times," Jason says. "Open your mouth." 

Aramis obeys — and a shadow slips right in like a mid-sized cock. "Mmph —" 

"Suck." 

Aramis blushes and shivers more and — obeys. And then his eyes fly open wide — undoubtedly when he tastes the slick Jason's given the shadows to hold. 

Treville cups Aramis's face. "Suckle, son. Suckle it all right down. It'll make you stronger." 

Aramis moans and nods and slurps — and suckles. 

"That's good, son. That's perfect. Now you're going to keep walking." 

Aramis shudders and obeys, a little unsteady at first, but — 

He's got it. Alternating suckles with steps. "Clever boy. Good boy," Treville says as they move into the master suite. 

"We're going to strip you now," Jason says. "Do you have objections to that?" 

Aramis shakes his head *hard* —

Keeps *suckling* — 

And stands ready. Offers himself. 

"Oh, son..." Treville sighs and kisses the top of Aramis's head before stepping back. "Do you have any questions?" 

Aramis *starts* to shake his head — stops. (Where does all the slick *come* from?)

Jason laughs richly and frees Aramis's hands for long enough to get him out of his shirt. "The shadow-magery allows me to store nearly whatever I wish. In... pocket-spheres. I'll show you." 

The scents of Aramis's curiosity rise — 

Such a hungry *boy* — 

Such a *fire* in him to *learn* — 

(You like this about me!) 

"We love it about you, son," Treville says, and drops into a crouch to remove Aramis's boots and socks. "It makes us even madder for you than we already were." 

(I will *always* wish to *learn*, Daddy...) 

"We'll help you do that, mon grand," Jason says, and works on Aramis's laces.

"We'll *always* help you do that," Treville says, and gives those little feet a few good licks — 

"*Mm* —" (Oh — *oh* — that *tickles* —) 

"You're — mm — sweaty here, son..." 

Aramis whimpers and *gulps* around the shadow-cock in his mouth — 

Treville lifts the trousers and *sucks* on the ball of Aramis's *ankle* — 

Aramis *grunts* — 

Treville scrapes his teeth — 

(Oh, Daddy, Daddy —) 

"We do have to get these trousers and breeches *off*, amant..." 

Treville slurps his way *off* that ankle. "Right, right, can't let the dog get distracted." 

Jason laughs softly. "Never that." 

(I...) 

"Yes, son?" And Treville sits back on his heels while Aramis steps out of the rest of his clothes. 

Jason has the shadows cart them out of *range* — "Ask your question, mon grand. Ask *all* your questions." 

(Yes, Master! I — are you *Daddy's* Master?) 

Jason laughs more. "No." 

"But sometimes, yes. When I need it." 

"He can always have it of me when he needs it," Jason says, and squeezes Aramis's cock firmly. 

Aramis shouts around the shadow-cock and then gulps it back in, sucks and suckles and slurps and *drools*. 

Treville growls and gives himself a *hard* squeeze — "That's good, son. That's..." He rumbles and licks Aramis's face clean — 

(Oh — oh, I'm sorry —) 

Shh. Some of us *like* a messy boy, Treville says and twines his fingers together with Jason's — 

(Nnh — oh — your *hands* —) 

"Do you like them, mon grand?" 

(So hard, so *strong* —)

Treville pulls back, licking his lips and much of his face. "You don't like soft hands, at all. Do you." 

Aramis blinks rapidly and sucks and stares dazedly. (I — I — on *women* —) 

"So you *do* enjoy women," Jason says, and that really was just a purr. 

(I know my Master does. Does... my Daddy? Truly?) 

"Sometimes," Treville says, and grins. "Though my Amina-love's hands were as hard as mine." 

Jason hums. "Marie-Angelique's hands, however..." 

Treville rumbles more. "She's soft. Soft all over. *Lush*, as Laurent would say," Treville says, and licks his face again. "I rather enjoy *that*, too." 

And Aramis's cock twitches in their hands as he dreams of fucking the *hell* out of various *curvy* women. 

Treville grins — 

Jason hums. "Every last one of those beauties are real. I can *tell*."

(Yes, Master! I have seen them — sometimes spoken to them!) 

"And now they live in your imagination, son?" 

(Hopefully for a very long time, Daddy!) 

Treville laughs and starts to massage Aramis's cock with Jason — 

Aramis gurgles and drools more —

"A strong imagination will stand you in good stead in *all* your endeavors, son." 

(Yes — yes — what?) 

Jason laughs softly and moves his other hand to Aramis's bollocks. "Don't worry about it, mon grand. Simply continue to suckle... and feel." 

(I — please — I must please —) 

"You are, son." 

(But —) 

Treville growls. "Your soft skin in our hands." 

"Your scents on the *air*." 

"Your tastes in our *mouths* —" And Treville growls again and squeezes just a little firmly — 

Aramis screams — 

Screams again when Jason squeezes his bollocks — 

"Beautiful," Treville says, and watches Aramis shake, smells him *sweat* — 

(Daddy — *Master* —) 

"We're right here, mon grand," Jason says, and guides them into a *stroke* of that cock — 

"We won't leave you," Treville says, and slips the thumb of his free hand into Aramis's mouth next to the shadow — 

"*Mmgh* —"

"Can you take it, son? Is it all right?" 

Aramis nods and nods, flushing and shuddering and sucking so well, so *sweetly* — 

Pausing to pant and groan only to go back to sucking *immediately* — 

And — 

They can both feel Aramis holding on. Trying not to *spend* too quickly. 

Trying not to lose control. 

Treville and Jason share a look — and then lean in close enough to whisper in his ears. "Son..." 

(D-Daddy —) 

"Mon grand, you must not make us wait for your pleasure..." 

(Master — what — what?) 

"Son..." And Treville breathes *hot* on Aramis's ear — 

Aramis shudders and gulps — 

Treville *licks* Aramis's ear and squeezes his cock again with Jason — 

Aramis *sobs*, drooling and shaking and slurping *desperately* — 

"We want you to spend, son. We want you to spend and spend and... mm. Make a *mess*, son." 

(I have to —) 

"You have to surrender to us," Jason says, and makes them squeeze *while* stroking —

(Nnh —) 

"You have to give everything you are to us, mon grand. Piece by beautiful piece." And he kisses Aramis's ear — wetly by the sound of it — 

Hungrily — 

Treville does the same — 

Treville growls and *bites* — 

Aramis grunts and stiffens, lips trembling around the shadow-cock and Treville's thumb — 

"Good boy. Good *son*. We won't stop." 

"This is your future, mon grand. This is what you have to look forward to —" 

"This is what we *need*," Treville says, and fucks Aramis's mouth with his thumb, his ear with his *tongue* — 

Aramis is shaking all *over*, cock jerking *hungrily* in their fists — 

"Do it, mon grand. *Spend*." 

"Spend for —" 

And Aramis *yells* around the shadow-cock and Treville's thumb, tossing his head and spurting — 

Spattering Treville with his spend and alternately crying out and *trying* to keep suckling — 

Good *boy* — 

And the scents of his pleasure are rich, thick, musky and just a little sweet — 

The scents of his pleasure make Treville need to lift Aramis into his arms — 

(Daddy!) 

— and carry him to the freshly-made bed, put him down, lay him down on his belly, grind him down so that he spends right against the sheets — 

"UNH —" 

And — wait. 

Pause for just a *moment* — 

Let Aramis catch his breath —

And Jason cups the back of his neck and crawls onto the bed beside him while Aramis sprawls and pants in front of them. "Can you wait long enough to take your clothes off, amant?" 

Treville opens his mouth — and shakes his head. Not yet. 

"Then..." And Jason rests a hand on the small of Aramis's back. "Your Daddy is about to taste you. Are you ready?" 

"Mm —"

And Jason pulls the shadow from between Aramis's lips. 

"Oh — I — I may speak in this way now?" 

Jason strokes Aramis right up his back. "Until we put another cock in there..." 

Aramis giggles — 

Treville growls and grips Aramis's hips — 

"Oh, Daddy — Daddy, I am usually much *cleaner* when the men want this act! Much less *sweaty*." 

"You know I don't want you clean, son." 

Aramis swallows. "I do, Daddy. My Daddy is a man — and a dog — of *appetites*." 

"That's right, son. That's just right. Now let me feed myself. Let me —" Treville growls. "I'm hungry, son. I'm hungry for you." 

Aramis scrambles up onto his knees — but keeps his head low. 

Aramis *presents* —

Treville growls *heavily* — 

He can't stop himself — 

He can't — 

He's squeezing Aramis too *tightly* — 

"Mm — is it wrong, Daddy? Should I —" 

"It's perfect. You're —" Treville pants and tries to *wrest* control from the spheres. "How are my hands on your hips?" 

"Very *hard*, Daddy —" 

"Too hard?" 

"No!" 

Two shadows stroke up either side of Aramis's back. "Are you positive about that, mon grand?" 

Aramis grunts — 

And Treville forces himself to focus, to look deeper — and finds pain. 

Pain Aramis doesn't *like* — 

Treville growls in *frustration* — 

(This is one of the reasons why you have me, amant.) "Mon grand...?" 

"I... am not in quite the right position, Master," Aramis says in a quiet voice. 

"Yes? Is that all that's wrong?" 

"I think so..." And Aramis shivers on his knees.

He thinks he'll be punished. He thinks — "Son," Treville says, and loosens his grip — 

"Oh — I apologize! You must take your pleasure, Daddy! And Master, you —" 

"Shh," Jason says, and crawls onto the bed. *He's* stripped down to his loosened breeches. "You will not be punished for not telling us you were in pain this time, Aramis," he says, and rests one of those hot hands on the back of Aramis's neck. 

Aramis moans — "This time?" 

"Not this time, son. You didn't know the rules. Did you." 

"No, Daddy. But." And they can all feel his chagrin, his *embarrassment* — 

Jason *squeezes* the back of Aramis's neck — 

Aramis *grunts* — 

"Breathe, son." 

"Daddy —" 

"Breathe," Jason says. "Follow my rhythm." And Jason breathes slowly and evenly for several long moments — 

Aramis's own breathing is shuddering and *rough* — until it isn't, and he loosens right up. 

Treville represses another growl. "Tell us what you didn't say, son. Go on." 

"I... *suspected* the rule. Given all the ways that my Daddy and my Master have treated me so far." 

Jason hums — 

Treville *strokes* Aramis's hips. "You just couldn't believe in it, son? After everything *else* that's come before?" 

Aramis makes a small noise. "I apologize —" 

"Shh, mon grand. There is no need for apologies. Simply answer the question." 

Aramis takes another deep breath — 

"Good boy, son. That's perfect. Do that until you're calm." 

Aramis nods and obeys, not even trying to lift his head from the bed —

(It is where I am wanted and needed, Daddy...) 

"It's *one* of the places where you're wanted and needed, son. There are many, many, *many* more — and most of them involve you being on your feet and fully-dressed." 

Aramis pauses in his breathing — but only for a moment before he loosens up just that slightest bit more. 

He'd needed that reassurance. Treville is happy to give it at any time.

After another few moments, Aramis pauses in his breathing, and there's a wet sound like he's licking his lips, and — "I have known many men. I have been *fucked* by many men. None of them... none of them were anything like the two of you," he says, quiet but firm. "You have — you *are* teaching me about new kinds of men, as well, my Daddy and my Master. I hope to meet more like you." 

Treville sighs and rubs and warms Aramis's hips. "You will, son. Your Uncles alone — well. You'll see. They're all going to love you very much." 

"My —" Aramis swallows with a click. 

"You may find it easier to think of them as your *pack*, mon grand," Jason says, and massages the back of Aramis's neck. 

"I — yes?" 

"Perhaps — or perhaps not. I found it helpful when I first turned around and realized that I had acquired four new brothers and a sister. And a *dog*-brother, as well. A way of... easing into things." 

"Yes, Master. I will consider this." 

Treville smiles. "Perhaps while you spend more time with the dog?" 

Aramis gasps a little — "Please, Daddy! I wish to *always* be there when you shift!" 

Treville laughs. "The only one who *might* have an objection to that — and I say *might* judiciously — is Marie-Angelique. I'll discuss it with her after you've had the chance to meet." 

"Oh — I *will* make a good impression, Daddy! I promise this thing!" 

"You could do no less," Jason says. "Are you comfortable now?" 

"I —" And Aramis spreads his knees just a little, and the waft of his scents is... mouth-watering. Delicious. 

Treville shares his reactions with both of them — 

Aramis *moans* — "Oh, *Daddy* — I am sorry for making you *wait*!" 

Treville opens his mouth — 

"*Never* apologize for giving us opportunities to teach you, mon grand," Jason says. 

"That's *right*," Treville says, leaning in and spreading Aramis nice and wide, looking for discomfort and finding none — 

Looking for that sweet little hole and finding it with his *tongue* — 

Again —

"*Daddy*!" 

The soft, sweat-slick skin of his cleft — 

The puckered and *tight* flesh of his hole — 

The softly-swollen strip of flesh just behind his bollocks — Treville laps long, laps wet, laps *dirty* — 

"Oh — oh, *fuck*!" 

And Jason is laughing low. "Do you like it, mon grand? Is mon amant already proving himself exceptional?" 

"I — I — I — his *tongue*!" 

"It's not at *all* human right now, mon grand..." 

"Nngh — he — I — *please*!" 

Treville's belly clenches for that and he's drooling that much more, lapping and pushing *in* with his shifted tongue — 

In and in and — 

In *deep* — 

Aramis gurgles and quivers around him — 

Treville *shares* that — 

And Jason growls. "You're already quivering for him. Is he *very* deep...?" 

"Y-yes, Master! And!" But Aramis groans and the words are muttered, incomprehensible — 

Treville reaches for the sense of them and finds only pleasure, desire — 

Sweetness and *need* — 

Jason hums again. "Tell us, mon grand. Tell us and make us *harder*." 

Aramis whimpers — "Yes? Yes?" 

"*Oh*, yes." 

And Treville rumbles *right* into that arse — 

"*Ahn* — *oh* — *ohn* —"

"You can do it, mon grand..." 

"*Yes*. Yes, I can! Oh — *fuck* —" 

Treville *laughs* into Aramis's arse and *curls* his tongue — 

"*Fuck*!" 

*Jason* laughs — and he's moving on the bed. Moving round in front of Aramis? 

"Just so, mon amant. I find I need his head in my lap..." 

Treville *growls* into Aramis's arse, scrapes his teeth — 

"Ai — *ai* — *please*! Please, Daddy, *please*!" 

Treville's cock *jerks* for that as it really *must* — What do you need, son? Do you want to feel that again? 

"*Yes*!" 

Treville growls *hard* and scrapes *slowly* — 

Aramis *screams* — 

And Treville kisses Aramis's hole, soothes it with his lips, rubs and nuzzles — 

"Oh, you're drooling again, mon grand..." 

"I — I apologize —" 

"Shh, no, you know we *like* that now," Jason says. 

"I must — clean my messes —" 

"Would you like to lick my cock clean...?" 

Aramis groans — lapping noises. Rapid, hungry, *filthy* — 

Treville's knot *throbs* — 

He shares the sensations — and Aramis cries out — 

"Oh, and you're drooling *again*. Did you like that, mon grand? Did you like feeling what you're going to get?" 

"*Please* — I — he *aches*, my Daddy *aches* —" 

"For *you*, mon grand. And — here," Jason says, and shares the feel of his *own* aching cock — 

The strain of the shadows *pulling* on his control, *urging* themselves at Aramis, raw power and *hunger* —

Aramis quivers more and cries *out*, starts to lap again — 

"Have we taught you to appreciate being hungered for again, mon grand...?" 

(By the worthy!) 

And Treville and Jason laugh together, messy and breathless together, hungry and *hungry* together — 

*Urging* — 

And Treville can't wait. He pulls his tongue most of the way out — 

"No! *Please*, Daddy —" 

He *shoves* it in —

"UNH —" 

Jason laughs more. "Yes, it *was* time for you to get *fucked*, mon grand. Just go ahead and drool right on my cock. You *won't* be able to manage much more." 

"I — I object — to — nrgh — fuck — OHN —" 

"Yes...?" 

"*Daddy*." 

Yes...? And Treville does his level best to *ream* Aramis with his tongue — 

"Nuh — *NUH* — you — *please*!" 

"Hm. He's still making words, amant. You're going to have to do better..." 

So I will, Treville says, spreading Aramis just a little wider — gently — and *kissing* that hole while he fucks it, while he *takes* it — 

Aramis *shouts* — 

"Well, he just *sprayed* me with saliva — better —" 

How's this, Treville says, and *sucks* a kiss to Aramis's hole while fucking him fast, fast — 

Aramis *howls* — 

Drums his little feet — 

(I do believe you'd be just as happy sucking on *them* right now.) 

Not *just* as happy, lover. 

Jason snorts in his mind — (You should see him. He has his head thrown back, his eyes squeezed shut... mm.) 

Is he flushed? 

(Oh, yes.) 

Is he sweating? 

(All *over* his beautiful face...) 

Treville growls again — 

Scrapes his teeth again — 

*Again* — 

Aramis *chokes* on his howls — 

Beats at the bed — but stops drumming his feet. He likes the sucking better. Treville can absolutely oblige. 

(I've always had faith in you.) 

Work his cock, lover. I want him to spend again. I want... 

(You want him to spend all day and into the night?) 

Treville growls and sucks *hard* — 

Aramis screams and goes *rigid* — 

(Perhaps I won't have to — no.) "Aramis. Spend for us." 

Oh — 

Aramis sucks in a *harsh* breath, toneless and shuddering — "Master — M-master —" 

"Do it." 

And then Aramis clenches *tight* around Treville's tongue — 

Sobs and shouts and *quivers* more — 

Clenches *tighter* — 

Treville *whips* his tongue inside him — 

And Aramis flexes open and *wails*, scents of musk and spend rising as he loses himself, as he gives himself *perfectly*. 

Treville grips him hard and fucks him with his tongue, sucks and suckles and works him, tastes him, takes him, *tastes* him — 

Aramis stops wailing and *sobs* again — 

Jerks and *slumps* — 

Treville isn't *done* — 

(We never will be...) 

No. We won't be. But Treville can kiss that hole more gently, make love to it, make *sweet* love to it — 

Aramis moans and quivers and *quivers* — 

"There you are, mon grand. How was that?" 

"So... so *good*. It is still! I can't —" 

"Shh. Rest your head. Your Daddy will need a few moments more." 

"I have made a mess —" 

"You'll clean it up." 

"My Master..." And Aramis is panting still, *moaning* still — "My Master wishes to be sucked?" 

"For a start. But, for now, your Master wishes to pet you. Down." 

"Mm — yes, Master!" 

Treville laughs softly into Aramis's arse while he kisses and nuzzles and licks. We can't blame him for being eager. 

"I never would, mon amant."

"No? It is not too much, my Master?"

"Your eagerness — your pleasure in touching and in being touched — is driving me rather up a tree, mon grand. I'm keeping most of that from you —" 

"Do *not*!" 

"Shh. You're not yet practiced enough at doing things like holding a conversation while those sorts of pressures are wracking you. I'll let you feel very soon." 

"Oh — yes?" 

"Yes," Jason says. "I want you mad with me, as well. I want... everything." 

"My Master must *take*." 

"Believe me when I say I'm doing just that, mon grand — on *my* terms." 

Aramis hums. "Absolute control..." 

"Oh, yes." 

Treville kisses Aramis's sweet little hole — nice and loose now — three more times. 

And then he licks Aramis's whole cleft — 

"Ah —" 

And then he takes those tidy little bollocks in and warms them in his mouth for a moment — 

Aramis groans — "Oh — oh, Master, he has my *balls*." 

"Do you like that?" 

"Yes — oh — but. Not as much as other things... *but*." 

Treville slurps his way off. "But, son?" 

Aramis whimpers. "Daddy, I missed your *voice*. But also I think you could *make* me love *anything* you did with your mouth!" 

Treville lolls his tongue for a moment — 

Aramis gives him a *hungry* look from where he's got his head resting on Jason's thigh — 

He lies down on his belly, right in the wet spot, spreading his legs *wide* — 

Jason is gently tugging the tangles from his hair —

Jason is hard as *stone* and leaking *steadily* — 

He's staring at Treville with a half-starved look on his face, and that...

But. "Anything, son?" 

Aramis moans. "Does my Daddy wish to bite me more? My body is *yours*." 

Treville's cock *spasms* in his — he's wearing too many clothes. "Is it."

"Yours and my Master's. I will be *good* for you *both*. I promise this thing!" 

(Amant...) 

And that was Jason *asking*. 

He never bloody asks for anything — 

He never bloody should. "Be good for your Master now," Treville says, moving off the bed and stripping down to his breeches. 

He leaves those on for now. 

He — 

"But... I want both —" 

"Compromise, son. One of us at a time — for now," Treville says, and throws his clothes across the room. 

Aramis is frowning. 

Jason is still *petting* — 

"Are your desires so different, Daddy? Master?" 

"Not so different, son. Jason just needs you... completely." 

Aramis parts his lips — and doesn't say a word. Not even inside. He's thinking about it.

Jason shudders and the shadows seem to *roll* closer — "Mon grand..." 

Treville crawls back onto the bed and cups Aramis's face. "Nothing you don't want, son. Nothing you don't ache for." 

Aramis pants — and nods. And kneels up to face Jason. "Please... show me your need?" 

Jason *pants* and rests his hand over Aramis's heart. "Feel." 

And then they *all* feel Jason's hunger again, Jason's *rising*, *spiraling* *lust* as Treville had made love to Aramis with his mouth — 

Jason's *need* for every cry — 

They feel his *ache*, the ache in his cock, his balls, the palms of his hands, and in every single shadow in the *manor* as Aramis had quivered and flexed open — and all he'd wanted to do was *pour* himself inside — 

Stuff Aramis *full* — 

Stretch him wide — 

Hold him *tight* — 

Hold him still. 

And make him take every *ounce* of his force while he — 

"Fuck me! Please fuck me!" 

Jason growls and darts in, biting Aramis's *cheek* — 

"*Oh* — *Master* —" 

Jason pulls back and pants and pants — "Say yes to me. Say *yes* to me, mon grand." 

"*Yes*! Do — do *everything*!" 

Jason squeezes his eyes shut and growls *hard* as his cock twitches *violently* — 

"Please do not hold yourself *back*!" 

"He has to, son. A little," Treville says, and settles himself back against the headboard. "Just enough not to injure you, or hurt you in a way you don't love." 

Aramis whimpers, cock lifting and filling so *right* — "I want to give you both *everything*!" 

"You *are*," Jason says, opening his eyes again and *blazing* with need — 

Treville cups his cock and gives it a squeeze — 

Aramis whimpers and *scrambles* back down to his hands and knees — 

"Almost," Jason says — and then four shadows detach themselves from the writhing knot of them in the southwest corner of the ceiling and shoot down to coil round Aramis's wrists and ankles, pulling him back down onto his belly — 

"*Oh* —" 

Holding him there, spread-eagle and still, as Aramis — obviously reflexively — tugs against them. 

"You can struggle all you need to, mon grand. You will not be free until I allow it." 

Aramis moans *loudly* — 

Flushes *dark* — 

And Treville has to squeeze his cock *hard*.


	9. Control... and *less* control.

For long moments, Jason only kneels there, next to Treville at the head of the bed, and breathes. 

Treville knows he's taking in messages and hints and cues with every breath in similar — if not quite the same — ways as Treville is, but he also knows that Jason is *mostly*... borrowing control. 

Aramis has *obviously* never been this effectively restrained before — 

Aramis has obviously always at least *believed* himself capable of getting free from whatever restraints he's been in — 

The scents in his sweat are aroused, excited, wild, thrilled, worried, frightened, hungry, needy, pained — just a little when he yanks too hard. 

He can't seem to stop himself — 

And... "There's something you ought to know about those shadows, son." 

"I — I — yes, Daddy?" And he tugs a little more with his ankles — 

His wrists —

"They are so strong, but they don't hurt! They feel nothing like rope, or..." 

"Silky, are they?" 

"Almost — almost like *skin*, but a little too cool for that, and... a little rough..." 

"Like a hand, maybe, son?" 

"Oh, yes! Four hands, holding me very tightly!"

"They're a part of your Master..."

"Yes, I know — oh. Oh..." And Aramis *stops* tugging and struggles to *look* at them. "Am I — are you — my Master, can you *feel* it when I struggle?" 

"I feel everything my shadows feel," Jason says, and smiles. 

"And — when I was *sucking* —" 

"Oh, yes." 

"But I wasn't doing a good *job*! I —" 

"I disagree, mon grand." 

Aramis makes a frustrated noise. "I know how to suck a *cock*, my Master. Especially one as small as the one you gave me —" 

"You'll have your many chances to show us your skills," Jason says, and strokes Aramis's hair again. "Though I warn you that your Daddy won't let you suck him nearly enough for the tastes I can feel that you have." 

"Oh — no?" 

Treville laughs. "Fine. Make me the villain." 

"Well. You *are*." 

"Daddy —" 

"I much prefer fucking a willing mouth to being sucked, son," Treville says.

"But —" 

"Even if the person sucking me has *great* skill and finesse. This... is where my urges toward control come in, I believe." 

Aramis *grunts* — 

And starts to tug at the shadows again. 

Treville grins. 

Jason sweats. 

"You like that thought, son?" 

"I — oh — I didn't mean to!" 

"He likes it, son. You're making him *harder*. Jason —" 

And Jason lets them both feel the fraying edges of his control, the maddening randomness of those tugs like rough strokes to his *cock* — 

Aramis cries out and *thrusts* against the bed, tugging harder — 

Jason *growls* — 

"I'm — ohn — Master, my Master, are you *sure* I should not apologize?" 

"Oh... yes," Jason says, and licks his lips — 

And *grips* Aramis's hair — 

"But I'm going to need more control very soon..." 

"Yes? Please take it! Please take —" 

"Struggle." 

"Wh-what?" 

"Struggle, mon grand. You haven't been able to struggle in your bonds before — not truly. You've always had to worry about marking up your flesh for the customers, about putting *off* the customers with your independent spirit..." 

Aramis growls — 

"But you've wanted to struggle. Haven't you?" 

"I..." 

"You've wanted to fight... and lose." 

Aramis *pants* — "You are looking — you are looking so *deep* within me —" 

"I also have those six hundred years of experience, mon grand. Never discount them," Jason says, and strokes Aramis's hair softly, gently — 

"My Master..." 

"I want to *feel* you fight, mon grand. I want to feel your power *caught* in mine." 

"Oh... fuck." 

Jason laughs hungrily. "Do it."

Aramis moans and *yanks* on the shadows with both arms, his legs — 

He growls and does it again — 

Again — 

Jason groans — 

And then Aramis opens himself up to his *power* and starts yanking, starts *hauling* on the shadows as he burns as bright as the *sun*. 

Jason growls and *pants*, gripping at his own thighs and obviously concentrating, obviously working not to *hurt* Aramis as he clutches him that much tighter — 

Aramis gasps — 

Snarls and fights *harder*, writhing more and more in place as the bonds get tighter and *tighter* — 

As the world gets *darker* — 

More shadows are *gathering* — and binding Aramis. 

At his throat, at his waist, at his knees and elbows and shoulders — 

And at that place deep inside he doesn't know how to protect, yet — Aramis *can't* access his power, anymore. 

He gasps and groans — 

Gasps again and *sobs* — 

He's *slick* with sweat — 

The salt of him and Jason on the air is so *much* — 

Treville rumbles and growls and *strokes* himself once, twice — no, focus. He *looks* to Jason. 

(Yes. Yes, I will...) And Jason takes a shuddering breath and strokes Aramis's hair back from his forehead. "Mon grand..." 

"My Master..." Aramis's voice is small, and hungry, and full of *need*. 

Treville licks his lips — they need a little more. 

(Yes.) "How are you." 

"You. You *have* me, my Master. You — I am helpless." 

"You've never felt this helpless before." 

"No, my Master." 

"I'm going to give you back your magic in just a moment — it is *anathema* to me to leave a mage blocked — but now you know that I *can* do this to you at any time. Don't you." 

"Yes, my Master," Aramis says, still in that small voice, that needy-hungry-*panted* voice. "I will be good." 

Jason strokes Aramis again, and frees his magic — 

Aramis whimpers and relaxes — 

"Good boy. I will be teaching you how to protect yourself from that in the *very* near future, mon grand..." 

"Yes, my Master. Thank you —" 

"One of the ways you'll protect yourself is this: Give none of your bodily fluids to blood-mages you don't trust with absolutely all of yourself." 

Aramis shivers. The motions are minuscule like this — "Yes, my Master. I will always listen to you." 

Jason inhales deeply and strokes a meandering path down Aramis's back to his arse. He cups Aramis there and squeezes. "Will you?" 

"Yes, my Master. I belong to you and my Daddy now." 

Treville squeezes his cock *hard* — 

Jason *stares* down at their boy — 

Their boy. 

Jason licks his lips. "Are you ours forever, Aramis...?" 

"Yes, my Master." 

Treville *winces* with need — 

He can *feel* Jason aching over there — 

Lover, don't wait. 

(No, I...) "Do you understand that we're yours forever, as well?" 

"No, my Master. But I know that you and Daddy both will do and say many things to show me this." 

Treville swallows back a growl — 

And Jason leans in to kiss and nuzzle the back of Aramis's neck, just below the shadow — 

"Oh — oh..."

Jason pulls back *slightly*. "That's precisely correct, mon grand. You must also ask for specific reassurances when those thoughts occur to you, and when the words don't stick in your lovely throat," he says, and goes back to kissing — 

Aramis pants — 

Jason kisses his way down Aramis's back — 

Kisses and *bites* — 

Aramis *moans* — 

Jason nods and bites at every stray droplet of sweat he can *find*, reddening up Aramis's back and making Aramis *tremble* — 

Making him tremble and *sob* — 

And the scents of his needy desire grow thick and rich and *heady*. 

Treville can't breathe remotely properly anymore —-

And Jason is growling under his breath. 

He bites all over Aramis's little arse, and Treville can feel strain for that, feel — 

(He's trying to lift into it. He's... oh, mon grand...) And Jason *spreads* Aramis's arse *wide* — 

Aramis *shouts* — 

And Jason sucks hard, wet kisses all up and down Aramis's cleft, pausing at Aramis's hole — (I have to *fuck*.) 

Somehow, I can understand, Treville says, and strokes himself slow, slow, *hard* — 

Aramis is making soft, hungry little *whining* noises — 

Shaking as much as Jason's *letting* him — 

(Leaking. Into another shadow.) 

Give him *your* long tongue, lover...

(I —) 

Teach him that there's never going to be any *relief*. 

And this time when Jason growls, the whole room *blackens* for a moment, as if it had suddenly fallen night outside — 

Aramis *gasps* — and gulps — 

Did you give him — 

(A *bigger* cock this time. *Mine*.) 

And then the world is full of wet sounds, sucking sounds, slurping and *suckling* sounds — 

Aramis is doing his *best* for that shadow-cock, and Jason is feeling it enough — *letting* himself feel it enough — that all he can do is *attack* Aramis's hole with lips and demonic tongue and just a little teeth. 

They're both *groaning* — 

Treville can't stroke *slowly* anymore — 

Aramis is groaning in his *chest* — 

It's just bright enough that Treville can *see* that shadow-cock *fucking* Aramis's pretty mouth, see Aramis's tongue slipping out to lap and tease at it — 

*Jason* is shaking back there — 

He *can't* hold *these* sensations back from himself — 

(No. I — I —) And Jason growls more and pulls *back* — 

Treville opens the bedside table and throws Jason the pot of olive oil — 

"*Thank* you," Jason says, catching it easily without looking and slicking three fingers. "Mon grand, that —" He growls again. "That is *my* cock you're sucking —" 

"Mm — mmngh — mmmm..." And Aramis is straining again, struggling — 

"Don't *fight*," Jason says, and starts rubbing Aramis's hole with his slick fingers. 

Aramis stops straining immediately, scents of arousal spiraling higher and higher and — 

Treville is just tossing himself *off* at this point, and — 

"I can't *wait*," Jason says, sounding hungry, desperate, *angry* at himself for losing that much control — and just a little resigned, too. 

A part of him knew he *would* lose this much control. 

"*Yes*, and —" He pushes *deep* with two fingers — 

Aramis stops even his *shaking*, tongue sticking out as that shadow-cock *reams* his mouth — 

"Oh, mon grand. You can take it." 

Aramis whimpers — 

It's choked-*off* — 

"You can take it and you *will*." 

And Treville feels more strain, more *ache* from Aramis — 

(He's trying to spread his *legs* more — oh —) "Good *boy*," Jason says, and spreads Aramis's legs for him. "Is that better? Let me *feel* your answer." 

And Aramis *fills* them all with his pleasure, his need, his need to be *fucked* — 

By *both* of them — 

Treville *snarls* — 

"The answer is *yes*," Jason says, and starts *working* those fingers.

Aramis gurgles and shudders and gulps — 

Coughs and gulps again — 

Again — 

Catches the *rhythm* and starts to *suckle* again — 

Jason *shouts* — "Perfect *boy*," he says, and lets Treville feel him crooking, twisting, working — 

*Opening* their *boy* — 

He's already so *relaxed* — 

So loose and *ready* — 

"Jason. *Fuck* him," Treville says, and he can't — 

Aramis is shaking all over — 

Shaking like a *leaf* — 

And Jason starts *giving* it to Aramis, two fingers and long strokes, strong and slick and dirty — 

Treville knows how that *feels* — 

Treville knows how that *aches* — 

How — 

How it can be so incredibly *sweet*, so deep, so *deep*, and now their boy has it, and has it from Treville, too — he couldn't keep from sharing. 

Aramis is drooling on himself and lapping frantically, sweating — 

His hair is *lank* with it — 

The feel of him is full of pleas, full of *begging* for *more* — 

And Jason gives it to him, gives him that third long finger nice and slow — 

Nice and hard and *slow* — 

Aramis sobs and shakes *harder*, straining — 

And now Treville can feel him wanting to buck up into it, wanting to take more, faster, deeper — 

Jason is panting like a bellows — 

He *crooks* — 

Aramis *screams* — 

They can *all* feel how *close* — 

And Jason groans and starts to fuck Aramis *dirty* again. "Do it, mon grand. *Spend*. Give us your pleasure, and —" 

Aramis *howls* around the shadow-cock, which Jason has stilled for the moment, resting it on Aramis's lip — 

Aramis howls and goes rigid and spends, and the scents are *muffled* — 

(My — my *apologies* — my shadow was greedy —) 

And then the scents are just right, just perfect, and Jason lets Treville feel that shadow *working* and *massaging* Aramis's cock and bollocks — 

Squeezing and stroking and *milking* — 

Aramis sobs and sobs *again* — 

Slumps all *over* — and immediately starts suckling the shadow-cock again. 

Jason growls and darkens the *world* again. "Your *mouth*, mon grand, I — I'm afraid this is all the rest you're going to get this time." 

Aramis *grunts* — 

Jason pulls out slowly and *steadily* — 

Treville tosses him a rag for his hand — 

And then Jason is using shadows to hold Aramis's arse spread wide as he lines himself up. He pauses. "You *will* be able to stop me. Test me at any time." And then Jason starts to push, covering Aramis as he does — 

Aramis moans and shivers and sucks needily, so — 

He shares with them both, inexpertly and *brightly*, the feel of Jason's cock opening him right *up* — 

Pushing deeper and deeper, *hotter* than any cock he's ever had before — 

The feel of it being just a little *too* easy... 

Jason gasps laughter and covers Aramis completely. "Oh — mon grand. I prepared you *just* enough that — mm. That when your Daddy sinks in deep, you'll feel, for just one wonderful moment, like you weren't prepared at *all*." 

"*MM* —" 

Treville *pants* — 

"Yes, you both — you both want that," Jason says, and stretches his arms along the length of Aramis's before pulling out most of the way. "Me *first*," he says, and *shoves* in —

Aramis *screams* —

"Shall I. Shall I do it that way again, mon grand? Shall I take my pleasure of you just as I *like*?" 

And there are more of those wordless pleas, that bright need, that hungry, aching need to be fucked so *hard* — 

"So be it," Jason says, twining his fingers with Aramis's and fucking him *hard*. 

Just — 

Treville moves his free hand to his bollocks and gives them a *yank*, being careful not to share *that*. He can't spend, yet. He has to save this for their boy, save *all* of it for him so he'll be *quick* — 

At least *relatively* — 

But Aramis is choking on his screams — 

And Jason is shoving in hard, so hard — 

Treville knows how that *feels* — 

Treville knows how it feels to be bound and taken and *used* just that perfectly, just that *hotly*, and he has to hold their boy inside a little, has to comfort him and share — 

Take — 

"I never — I never want to *stop* fucking *either* of you," Jason says, growling more and *grinding* in — 

Aramis *shouts* — 

The shadow-cock *trembles* on his lower lip — 

Treville is so *hungry* — 

(Shall I — shall I give you something, amant?) 

I'll *spend* too fast — 

(I —) "I. I can smell it. I can —" And Jason growls and *pumps* in four times fast —" 

Aramis howls — 

"Oh, mon grand —" Jason *pants* — 

Treville *squeezes* his bollocks — 

"Mon grand, I will — I will *teach* you to taste your Daddy on. On the *air* —" 

"Please!" 

"I will —" And Jason growls and gives Aramis a *fast* rhythm, a *hard* rhythm — 

"Unh — UNH —" 

"I will — I will *show* you — Hecate's *cunt*, your arse is *perfect* — so *perfect* —" 

"Please, Master, do not stop! Do not — MMGH —" 

And the shadow-cock shoves back *in* — 

And Treville is sweating like a *pig* — 

And Jason is *gripping* Aramis's hands, ducking his head enough to bite his ears, his face — 

"Mm — *MMN* —" 

Aramis is so flushed, so dark and *flushed* — 

Jason is so *wild* and *lost* to it — so — 

Treville growls and watches Aramis's eyes roll up in his head — 

Feels him reach, awkward and bright and heartfelt and *needy*, for both of them — 

Feels him trying to share his pleasure, his happiness, his *pleasure* — 

"This is yours whenever you *want* it, son —" 

(Please, YES!)

"This is yours whenever you — we'll be able to *feel* you needing it..." 

Aramis is *shaking* under Jason — 

"We'll be. We will." And Jason snarls and bites the back of Aramis's *neck* — 

Every part of Treville feels that and *needs* — 

He can see Aramis going *loose* — 

Oh, sweet boy, sweet *boy* — 

And the shadows get that much closer, take that much more of the light and air and everything *else* — 

Treville can't breathe in anything but musk and slick and *sex* — 

It's so bloody *dark* — 

And Jason is snarling constantly in their soul-space, rutting and wordless, helpless to his own need — he'd waited too long. 

He'd waited too *long* — but Treville's known him long enough to *know* what he needs at this point. "Aramis..." 

Aramis's whole self is a smile, loose and open, loose and *ready* — (Daddy...) 

"Tell us you're ours again..." 

(I am yours! Yours and — and my Master's! I am — oh, please, please keep me just as you said!) 

And Jason's eyes flare red — 

And the shadows thicken that much more — and *tighten* around Aramis that much more — 

(Please!) 

"We'll *never* let you go —" 

"*Never*," Jason says, and starts to *ream* Aramis — 

Aramis mouth falls open on a long, belling moan — 

His eyes are wide and full — 

His lips are *trembling* around the shadow-cock again — 

Treville pushes it *deep* — 

And Aramis's eyes roll up again as he *jerks* in his bonds — 

(Clenches — he's — *clenching* —) 

And Jason's rhythm is ragged and desperate, needy, rough and rutting and so *beautiful* —

And then Jason roars like a wildcat and starts to spend, filling their boy's arse and fucking him *through* it, one *shoving* thrust at a time — 

So good — 

Aramis shares a *flash* of how hot it is, how sleek and *wild* it is — 

Aramis is *smiling* again, broad and sweet and so *thrilled* — 

Treville growls and yanks on his bollocks *again* — 

Jason keeps *fucking* — 

Jason growls and obviously *forces* himself to slow down — 

He needs *time* for it — 

But then, eventually, Jason can still himself. 

And pant.

And then Jason's eyes flare again and the shadows start to peel back *slowly*. 

Not from Aramis — he's still bound up tight — but the room around them brightens. 

(And the manor, as well...) 

"You were terrifying my retainers again, lover...?" 

"I would think... mm. I would think they'd be used to it by now..." And Jason leans in and begins to kiss and lick at the bruises and bite-marks on the back of Aramis's neck. 

Aramis moans and relaxes into it. 

Treville hums. "Do you like that, son? Being cleaned like an animal?" 

Jason lengthens his tongue accordingly — and makes the shadow-cock dissipate entirely.

Aramis shivers and purrs. "My Daddy and my Master are teaching me to like many things like an animal..." 

Treville rumbles and hungers just that much more — 

"Oh — Daddy, I can *feel* —" 

"How much I need you, son? I'm sure you can," Treville says, and laughs. 

Jason pulls his tongue back in. "Now that I'm being — somewhat — less oppressive," he says, and *sucks* at a particularly *large* bite-mark — 

"*Mm* —" 

"We all like you that way, lover," Treville says, grinning and giving his cock a *soft* stroke. 

It jumps for the touch, eager and spattering the bed. 

Jason kisses his way to Aramis's ear. "We *will* learn to share a bit better, mon grand, and not leave ourselves quite so *desperate* for you..." 

"I do not mind the desperation!" 

Jason laughs and gains a look of concentration — 

And Aramis grunts, mouth falling open — "Oh — oh, Master!" 

"You didn't spend for me again..." 

"You — you did not tell me to!" 

Treville licks his lips and growls — 

Jason winces with *need* — "Mon grand..." 

"Please, Master, is it wrong —" 

"*No*," Jason says, and kisses him again — 

"It isn't wrong, at all, son," Treville says, and strokes Aramis's swollen lips with his own slick. "We just forgot, for a moment, what an obedient boy you could be." 

Aramis licks his lips and hums and obvious considers... "Do you wish me to be less obedient?"

Jason looks to *him* — and it's another request. 

Treville growls. "No. We don't." 

Aramis lifts an eyebrow. "I think that my Daddy isn't certain about this." 

Treville opens his mouth — 

"Your Daddy wishes to indulge me," Jason says, and kisses Aramis's neck again. "*I* am certain that I wish your obedience —" 

"I know this thing —" 

"Shh." 

"Nn — I apologize, my Master. I — I wish to please *both* of you." 

Treville strokes down the length of his cock helplessly. "I like it when my lovers lose control utterly — sometimes. When they spend even when they're trying to do anything but." 

"Oh." 

Jason hums. "You see the dilemma. But —" 

"There is *no* dilemma," Aramis says. "I will be *completely* obedient for my Master, and I will be more wild for my Daddy — except when he does not wish it." 

Both he and Jason are frowning — 

"What? There is no difficulty in this. I am *trained*. This is — is *fundamental*." 

Treville wipes at the saliva on Aramis's chin with his thumb. "But will it please you?" 

Aramis smiles slyly. "Will my Master always *have* me just this powerfully? Just this *perfectly*?" 

"Your Master is fighting every inclination to have you that way again right *now*." 

"Will my Daddy be as hungry for me, as *devouring* of me, as my Master?" 

Treville *pants* — "Imminently." 

Aramis makes a small sound. "Daddy, I want your *knot* —" 

"Shh, don't. Don't make me lose control — yet." 

And they all feel Aramis blaze inside for that, they all feel him heat with pleasure and comfort and — satisfaction. 

Treville's heart pounds —

He needs — 

Jason squeezes Aramis's hands and growls. "We've made you enjoy being ours." 

"Yes —" 

"Son..." 

"Yes, Daddy, please —" 

"We've made you... oh, son, I need you right now. Right now." 

Aramis whimpers and *shakes* — and Jason kneels up, fast and steady, holding Aramis flat to the bed and stroking and caressing and *easing* him with his shadows as he pulls out. 

Aramis slows his breathing down immediately, *forcing* it under control, forcing it to something *close* to as slow and steady as Jason's strokes — 

"You're such a wonderful boy," Treville says, and it's more of a growl than anything else, but it still makes Aramis relax that much more — 

Go that much *looser* — 

(I will be *ready* for you, Daddy,) Aramis says, and never stops breathing, never stops — 

Even once Jason is *out* — 

Even once he's *presenting* — 

Treville *snarls* — 

(I already know that sound is not a bad one from my Daddy, but...) 

Treville *moves*, covering Aramis and sniffing and licking and — 

Yes, yes, his arse, too, just a little, just — 

"AHN —" 

"*Never*, *ever* forget a dog's appetites, mon grand," Jason says, laughing and lounging by the head of the bed. 

"He is — he is — oh, *fuck* —" 

So good, so good, and Jason is always good to taste, good to feel, good to *have*, but to have him with this *boy* — 

Their *Aramis* — 

Treville pushes *deep* with his tongue — 

Fucks in fast, fast — 

Tastes and *takes*, so musky and *slick*, while Aramis shakes and *sobs* for him, while he clenches and *leaks* — 

Treville cups Aramis's cock — twitching and leaking steadily. 

Treville grins and growls into Aramis's arse, sucks at his hole — 

Aramis howls — 

Moans and howls *again* — 

And Treville pulls back with a growl and a *sloppy* grin — 

"No — Daddy —" 

"Just wait, son. Jason."

"*Absolutely*," Jason says, and he's using his hand to caress Aramis's face, but he's sending shadows back that are full of oil, not just slick, shadows that are leaving him even *sloppier* — 

Treville is growling at the *sounds* — 

Aramis is moaning and *shuddering* — 

Treville can't help holding him *wide* — 

Keeping him so — 

Now. Now, and he's slick enough that his hand almost slips on his own cock, he's slick enough that he *has* to grip himself hard even as he — pushes — 

"Daddy, *yes*!" 

"How's that, son?" 

"So — so *big* —" 

Treville growls a laugh and keeps pushing. "Jason told you he wouldn't be preparing you properly for *me*, son." 

Aramis *grunts* — 

And Jason grins lazily. "Did you forget what you'd told us, mon grand...?" 

"I — I —" And Aramis moans *loudly* — 

"Perhaps — nn. Perhaps we should give him a minute, lover," Treville says, and starts to rock — 

Starts to — 

Oh, but it's so sweet, so good, so slick and hot and *plush* — 

"Ahn — ahn — *ahn* —" 

"I think he might need *more* than just a minute, amant..." 

"I! I will —" 

Treville shoves in just a little deeper — 

Aramis groans *hungrily* — "*Daddy* — I —" 

"Mm? Mm. What do you need, son? What do you *crave*," Treville says, but he can't stop rocking, can't stop *pushing* — 

"*Please*!"

"Please *what*, son. Tell me. Tell me everything. Or just let me *feel*," Treville says, and the words aren't all the way out before Aramis is *blasting* them both with the ache inside him, the need, the need to be fucked so *hard* — 

To have something just — 

This — 

*Thick* — 

And Treville is snarling again, gripping Aramis's hips, hauling his arse *up* so he can fuck his way *down* and in — 

"So strong!" 

"He is so much more than merely a *man*," Jason says, and, "Here." And there are shadows flying back to help spread Aramis, to help *hold* him open for Treville's knot — 

Jason knows Treville can't wait. 

Jason knows Treville will only manage just a few of the longer thrusts — 

Just — 

This one — 

"AHN —" 

And this one — 

"Daddy, please —" 

And then he's rutting, shoving and working to shove his *knot* in — no. No. Steady. He has to do this steadily, if not quite slowly. He has to get his bloody *lead* on — 

(I've got you, amant...) 

And Jason does. 

A hot, strong touch on the back of his neck, on his *spirit* — 

And Treville can do this — the right way. Steady and easy while their Aramis *works* to keep his breathing right, *works* to stay just as perfect, just as beautiful — 

He'll always *be* — 

Treville growls and rubs at Aramis's hips, sweats and *pants*. "You've got about half of it, son. You — you can take it." 

"Yes! I will!" 

They both *reach* for him, seeking for hesitation, the wrong kinds of pain, the wrong kinds of *struggle* — 

"Please do not *stop*!" 

And the sweat is *pouring* off Treville, scents of himself too high in his nose — but no part of him can't *taste* Aramis's need, his eagerness, his — 

Oh, his *need* — 

Treville *pushes*, steady and just a little faster, just a little *harder* — 

Aramis *sobs* — 

Treville's cock *jerks* inside him — and the rhythm of Aramis's breathing breaks down entirely, breaks into sobs and whimpers and *gasps* as Treville pushes and pushes and pushes — 

*In* — 

"*Daddy*!" 

"There. There. Oh, there..." And Treville is *shuddering* with it, with the need to rut now, rut fast, rut *hard*, but — 

"Are you well, mon grand?" 

"I — I — I am stuffed!" And Aramis tries to wriggle in Treville's hands — 

Treville *grips* him — 

Aramis *moans* — "Oh, Daddy, oh, *Daddy* —" He drops his head again — 

He *grinds* his face against the stained duvet — 

(Please! Please please please!) 

And Treville is growling even as Jason's touch leaves the back of his neck — 

Treville is holding Aramis *tighter* — 

Holding him up and — 

Grinding and grinding and — 

Oh, but Aramis is groaning into the sheets, *gulping* in air and groaning — 

Treville wants him louder, needs him *louder*, and it's the easiest, most perfect thing to *move* his beloved boy — 

Change the *angle* — 

He *screams* — 

He yowls like a cat — 

And then he does it again and *again* as Treville *pounds* his pleasure-button, as Treville rams his knot there,*right* there — 

No finesse, no great *grace*, nothing but animal-need and animal *lust* — 

But Aramis is blazing in them both again, putting the lie to that, Aramis is — 

Oh — 

So *bright* in them, so bright in Treville as he takes, as he ruts and slams and growls and — 

As he covers him, bites where his Jason has bitten, yes, so good, so good, and this boy will always be pack, and this will always be a *mating* — 

There's a gasp somewhere outside of this — 

A stutter of confusion — 

Treville wraps his arms around Aramis's chest and holds tight, holds *tight* — and bites deeper — 

(*Daddy* —) 

You're *mine*.

(Your your — mate?) 

Treville growls into the bite, knowing Aramis can feel it in his spine, knowing he can feel Treville all *through* himself — (MINE.) 

(I — *fuck* —) And Aramis clenches *violently* hard around him — 

Treville thrusts in with a *jerk* — 

Aramis *sobs* — and starts to spend, starts to — 

Oh, wild, oh, perfect, oh, perfect *boy*, and Treville tears his right hand away from Aramis's hip, lowers him down so he can stroke and massage that cock, tease it and *milk* it — 

(Daddy — *Daddy* —) 

The noises Aramis is making aloud are garbled things, loud, helpless — 

(Daddy, I'm *yours*!) 

Treville *squeezes* Aramis's cock and sucks at the bite-mark on his throat, sucks and laps to heal — 

And then brings his slick-sticky fingers to his mouth and sucks those while Aramis slumps, still struggling to present, still — 

So perfect, so *perfect*, but — 

Jason — 

(Mais bien sûr, amant...) 

And the shadows hold Aramis steady for Treville, hold him still, so still while he moans, while he *croons* — 

While the tastes of him fill Treville's *senses* — 

(My Daddy need never work for this...) 

Treville *grunts* — 

(But a good and proper mate shouldn't... shirk...) 

What — 

And then Aramis begins *clenching*, working his arse in a *stuttered* rhythm that — 

Treville *barks* — 

Slams *in* — 

Aramis *loses* his rhythm — but only for a moment. He laughs *evilly*. "A good mate is *diligent*," he says, and tosses his sweaty *hair* — 

And he starts clenching — 

Stopping — 

Clenching *harder* —

Treville is yipping and slamming in-in-*IN* — 

He can't bloody *see* — 

He can hear Jason *laughing* at him — 

He can hear Aramis grunting, grunting over and over even as he still works his beautiful — 

(Everything I am is yours and my Master's.)

And then the only thing Treville can do is bite Aramis's throat again, bite down and take, *take*, even as he *shoves* in — 

Even as everything in him burns, *burns* so *sweet* — 

He's spurting right up their beautiful boy's arse — 

He can't — 

He can't stop *rutting* — 

His knot is already *swelling* — 

He's growling and whining at *once*, and it feels so good, so sweet, so *fucking* good — 

(Oh... oh, Daddy...) 

He holds Aramis tight and just keeps going, just — 

Eventually his body will slow down, and then, theoretically, stop. 

"If it doesn't, I'll just suffocate you until you lose consciousness," Jason says. 

Treville groans. "You know I'll just get harder first, lover. You've — nnh. Trained me." 

Aramis squeaks — 

"That's the price we'll all have to pay, amant. Are you quite all right, mon grand?" 

"How *often* do you suffocate Daddy?" 

"Oh, when he needs it," Jason says, beautifully unhelpfully. 

They can all feel Aramis glaring, which, really, is damned impressive — 

Treville kisses the back of his head while his knot throbs relatively quietly — 

And Jason laughs more. "All right, a better answer: No more than a few times a year." 

"Oh." 

"Yes?" 

"That... seems like too little? I do not know why!" 

*Both* he and Jason laugh hard — "Probably because I deserve it, son." 

"*Daddy* —" 

"No, I... I do enjoy it, but I don't *need* it very much. And I do need other things quite a lot." 

"Like the petting he *often* forgets to ask for — and which I rather forget to demand." 

Aramis nods thoughtfully... and like a young man making plans. 

"Here's hoping they include all *sorts* of delicious mayhem for both of us," Jason says.

"I want you both to be *happy*," Aramis says, and there's not one bit of plea to that. It's all... steel. 

Treville growls. "We will be, with you," he says, and nuzzles into Aramis's hair. 

"Yes —" 

"*Yes*," Aramis says. "You *will*."


	10. Step One: Promise To Obey Your Parents In All Things. Step Two: Disobey Your Parents. Step Three: Profit.

The hardest part of this spell, this *working*, is hiding it from his Daddy and his Master. 

In the end, there's not much that *can* be done there — they are *in* Aramis, all the *time*, and there is nothing he would do to change that — but *they* are not spirit-mages. 

As much as they have both taught him about his powers these past few months — and the world, the *worlds*, are so much bigger than what he ever knew! Well. 

They have *also* taught him that there were vast differences between their sorts of magery and his own. 

So. When they finally trusted him enough to work on his own — he'd waited. 

It would've been too obvious to strike out *immediately*. 

He'd *waited*, just a few more weeks, going over and over every lesson, every *possible* path to what he wanted — 

And he'd waited. 

And then his Master had taken a mission that required him to travel deep into *several* of the hells both with and *as* Etrigan — 

And his Daddy had been called to Court — 

And the time was right. 

Aramis had gathered his power — always close, always to *hand* now — and he had gathered his will. Every — every *drop* of it. 

And then he had *reached* for the one thing he truly wanted, other than something to ease the pain that had been in his Master's heart for centuries. There was nothing for that.

But there was his *Daddy's* heart's desire. 

His *mate's* true happiness. 

Treville's son.

He was careful to use only a gathering spell — if a powerful one. He doesn't want a slave, and he doesn't want to upset the balance of the spheres any more than they've already been imbalanced by Treville being *apart* from his son for this long. 

But...

He'd done it. 

And now it's everything he *can* do not to... tend it. Like an amateur gardener watering a plant until it drowns. Like — he doesn't know. 

He'd built a small, temporary connection to the boy — who is strong, and healthy, and, Aramis is quite sure about this, very tall — but it's been two *weeks*. His Master has sent a message saying he'll be back soon, and his Daddy has been giving him suspicious looks — 

Possibly because Aramis has been *avoiding* him — 

He cannot *do* that, but — 

But the boy has to *come*. 

He has to come *here*, to the garrison or the manor, and — 

And it's possible that Aramis is *lurking* behind a powder shed and *staring* at the golden thread to the nameless boy in his mind — 

Willing it — 

No, no — 

"Bloody *ow* —" 

Aramis jerks and spins, pulling his belt-knife — 

Absolutely no one has managed to ease him away from that reflex in the months since he's been a recruit — 

His Uncle Reynard has taught him several ways to *hone* the reflex — and. 

There is a very tall, very strong-looking boy in front of him. 

He is rubbing his head. 

His skin is brown, and he has a head of the most amazing curls, and he is scowling at Aramis most fearsomely — 

Perhaps for the blade. 

Aramis tucks it away. "I apologize —" 

"You're Aramis, aren't you." 

"I — yes —" 

"Would you mind telling me why you've been bloody *screaming* at me for the past two weeks?" 

Aramis opens his mouth — closes it. "Screaming...?" 

The boy — and he looks *nothing* like Daddy, but he looks a great *deal* like the portrait of Daddy's Amina he'd commissioned from carefully-tended memory, handsome and *strong* — looks at him. Belligerently. "Don't even try to tell me you didn't do that on bloody purpose." 

"I —" 

"Because I bloody *felt* you —" 

"You —" 

"And I've grown *up* with witches my whole sodding *life*," he says, thankfully lowering his voice. 

Aramis licks his lips. "I apologize." 

"Right, so apparently you're going to try to lie to me —" 

"No! *No*!" And Aramis raises his hands and steps closer, wincing. "I *did* call you on purpose —" 

"*Why* —" 

"But I did not mean for the call to be — to be continuous or hurtfully so —"

The boy frowns at him — 

Looks him *over* — 

"Right, all right, that was honest. But why were you calling me in the *first* place? Do you even know my *name*? I mean, you were telling me yours every bloody *night*." 

"I — was?" 

"Aramis de Treville. It's an interesting name, I'll give you that. Not that I can talk — I'm Porthos du Vallon, by the way —" 

"Oh, thank you —" 

"Now tell me *why* —" 

"I — it is a very long and difficult story — which I think will be made easier by the fact that you know witches. Very... well?" 

"Grew up with them, like I said," Porthos says, and frowns again. "What's this all about? I had to do a lot of fast talking to get out from under their direct protection to come to you, you know. And you're being watched by about three different witches right now, by the way." 

Aramis winces again. That *will* get Daddy's attention *quickly*. "I — there is a witch here — another witch — whom you *must* meet." 

"Right, but —" 

"He can tell you what — what is going on better than *I* can, Porthos," Aramis says, and he is aware that he's pleading, that he's — he stops that. He — no. He swallows. "I... please." 

Porthos frowns again. "It's all right, you know. It's obvious you needed me here." 

"Yes. Yes, very much so —" 

And Porthos nods. "Right. *Who* do you need me to meet?" 

"You... will come with me?" 

Porthos eyes the knife on Aramis's belt. "Not too sure about following you into any dark alleys, mate, but..." And then he grins, bright and wide and a kind of staggering. "C'mon, then. Let's get this cleared up so I can stop worrying Yejide and them." 

"Yejide? He... she? Is your guardian?" 

"She is. And something like," Porthos says, and claps Aramis on the shoulder. "Lead the way." 

Aramis does just that, struggling not to steal glances —

And finding Porthos smiling at him every time.

Aramis nearly *runs* up the stairs to Daddy's office — 

"Wait a minute, this looks a bit official..." 

"It... it — you must not worry. The Captain is my father —" 

"Not with *that* accent —" 

"I am *adopted* — please trust me a little longer?" And Aramis is pleading again, reaching for Porthos, who had paused on the catwalk — 

"Aramis? What's going on out there?" And that is Daddy, using his Captain's voice — 

"I have someone you must *meet*, Father," Aramis says, using his own official voice — 

Trying to make this a fait accompli — 

*Trying* — 

And. 

There is something like a pause, all over, seemingly all through the spheres, even as Daddy opens the door to his office — 

Even as Porthos stiffens — 

Even as Daddy growls *hard* — 

He steps out of the office —

Porthos *stares* at Daddy — 

And there's a vast, soundless *crack*, shuddering and huge — 

For a moment, it seems like every breath in the world is being *held* — 

And then Porthos blinks. "Oh..."

And Daddy — flushes. "How. Aramis — how..."

"I — I sent a call — for your heart's greatest desire —" 

Daddy shudders all over and grips the *wall* with his left hand — 

He looks like he might *fall* — 

And Porthos is — panting — 

Shaking his head — 

"Who — who *are* you?"

Daddy *whines* — 

"*Fuck* — I — my mum, she would make that sound, at the end, she would — they said she was a witch-shifter who never got to *finish* her shift," Porthos says —

"She didn't. I. What. What's your name, son. I never. I never got to know your name," Daddy says, and his voice is hoarse, rough, half-growled — 

Porthos swallows — "Porthos. Porthos du Vallon." 

Daddy nods, and there are tears running down his cheeks right there, right on the walk — 

Men will see — 

Daddy, you must go back into your *office* — 

"I don't give a *damn* about my *office* — ah, hell, ah, fuck, *fuck* — sons, my sons, will you..." And he can't seem to finish the rest of that sentence, he can't — 

So Aramis grips Porthos's arm and *tugs*, tugs lightly, respectfully, but *firmly* — 

"What?" And Porthos looks *stunned*, but he shakes it off. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll — I'll come in..." 

And Daddy doesn't move until Porthos does. He — 

But they finally make it inside the office, and Aramis closes and *locks* the door — 

And Daddy picks Aramis *up* and holds him, grips him, licks his face —

"*Fuck* —" 

Aramis tries to will Porthos not to *worry* — 

"Oh, fuck, Aramis, you really have to stop yelling at me in my *head* —" 

Oh — "I apologize!" 

And Daddy *coughs* a laugh — 

Squeezes Aramis tighter — 

"Oof —" 

And sets him down on the desk — 

And starts to pace — 

And obviously *feels* Porthos tensing —

Aramis doesn't let himself *touch* the connection between them — 

And Daddy sits down behind his desk, even though it's obviously the last thing he wants to do. His eyes are red and swollen, his hands are shaking, his *body* is shaking — 

And Porthos nods, licks his lips, and sits in the chair in front of the desk. 

"Thank you," Daddy says. 

Porthos swallows and nods again. 

Daddy studies every feature of Porthos's face a dozen times in less than a minute — and snaps his hands into fists. 

"They. They say I look like her." 

"You do, son."

Porthos nods. "You loved her."

"More than my life — I. Did she. Did she tell you...?"

"That my blood-father was nothing? That my *real* father was a soldier who loved both of us more than anything? That there was dark magic separating us? Yeah, she told me. I wasn't sure what to believe." 

"I've spent most of the past fifteen years trying..." Daddy shudders again and looks into Porthos's eyes. "I don't know which of your guardians led me to your mother's body. I just know it was the first clue I had about why I couldn't *find* her, or you, despite all my searching." 

Porthos frowns. "They never told me what the spells *were*. I — I don't know what to call you." 

Daddy smiles ruefully. "Call me what you feel most comfortable calling me in private, son. In public... I'm the Captain. I'd rather you call me what you want to call me there, too, but I'd *much* rather you not get hanged for the trouble.

"As for what they were... I can't tell you exactly even now, though I suspect my lover Jason Blood will have more success with that. What I can tell you is that the spells that separated us made it impossible for your mother to contact anyone she knew before the spells took effect — or to tell anyone *other* than you *vaguely* about those people. Should she do more than that, your life would've been forfeit... as opposed to 'just' hers." 

Porthos snarls. "Yejide told me she died protecting me — Yejide told me that a thousand times! But how did she get trapped that way? I know a *lot* about death-magic. You have to *bargain* for that kind of thing!" 

"Jason and I did for the death-mage who 'bargained' for your mother's life, son. He used a shade to disorient her, to scramble her mind until she would agree —" 

"Oh, fuck — oh, *fuck* —" 

"We don't have to talk about —" 

"*What* did you do to him? The death-mage?" 

"I tortured Guillou — the death-mage in question — *almost* to the point of death, until *he* would agree to anything, and then imprisoned him in my rapier," Daddy says. 

Aramis watches closely to see how Porthos will take this — 

"How... how did you learn... I mean, you're a bloody *earth*-mage. That's not what we *do*." 

Treville smiles wryly. "Jason is a blood-mage — among other things. He's been deeply educational over the years." 

Porthos grips the edge of the desk, eyes down and tracking back and forth rapidly — 

"Son —" 

"I used to ask my mum for all her goriest stories. Just — all the time." 

"Oh. You —" 

"I think I grew out of that. Liking that, I mean," he says, and looks up. "As opposed to just..." He shakes his head. "Sometimes things are necessary to survive, or to help other people survive." 

Treville swallows and stares into Porthos's eyes. "Your mother and I spent a lot of time being... violent together." 

Porthos nods. "That's what she said. I think she was a real hammer, you know? She had to be, to survive the Court with no friends." 

Daddy looks hurt for that, looks hungry and *angry* —

"I know you wanted better for her." 

"Always," Daddy says, and his voice is caught between a croon and a growl. 

"*Your* shift wasn't stopped — that's not my question." 

"It wasn't, no — but what is your question, son?" 

Porthos lifts his chin, which is faintly fuzzy, and pulls on what is very obviously his *most* belligerent stare. 

It would be more impressive if Aramis had not seen his smile, and did not know which expression belonged more truly on his face. But — 

"Who are you to me? Who am I to *you*? What do you *want* from me? Aramis here put a little bell on my soul and has been ringing it bloody constantly for two *weeks* to make sure I'd come to you — but that's him. What do *you* want?" 

Daddy shudders hard. "I never would've asked him to do it —" 

"*Daddy* —" 

"I never could have *endangered* him that way," Daddy says, and *looks* at Aramis. "The sheer number of times Jason and I have nearly been killed in our search for Porthos over the years..." He shudders again. "We are trained. You are *not*. And yes, you're on punishment for the foreseeable future." 

"I —" 

"You most certainly *are*," his Master says, walking out of a smudge that hasn't fully developed on the air and tying his hair back as he comes. "You *will* be telling us *exactly* how you did what you did — and congratulations on your rousing success, by the way, but if there's anything we've taught you *multiple* times, it's not to attempt magery where you know there is *already* *counter*-magery. Not without *help*." 

Aramis winces — 

His Master *looks* at him for just a little bit longer — and then turns to Porthos. "Jason Blood, at your service. I would offer you my hand, but I'm under *many* different curses, and earth-mages especially find my touch... difficult without blood first being shared." 

Porthos blinks. "Uh... all right?" 

"And what your father *means* to say, in case it hasn't been abundantly clear by the way he's trying and failing not to be *obvious* about wanting to leap across the desk *at* you, is that he wants you to come home with him immediately —" 

"Jason —" 

"Bloody *what* —" 

"— and live with him, and let him adopt you —" 

"He's not *comfortable* —" 

Aramis tugs lightly on the thread — 

"What — what the bloody hell *is* it, Aramis?" 

"Are you uncomfortable? With my Daddy?" 

"Well — do you really call him your Daddy?" 

"And I call Jason my Master, yes," Aramis says, and crosses his legs. 

Porthos raises his eyebrows. 

Aramis raises his own. 

They look at each other just that way for long moments — 

And then Porthos splutters. "Bloody *really*? I thought this kind of thing didn't fly outside the Court?" 

"My Daddy and my Master are exceptional men —" 

"Who you don't listen to," Porthos says, and grins broadly.

Aramis opens his mouth — 

Licks his lips — 

"I..." 

"Make it good now," Porthos says, just the way his mother used to, and tips his chair back on two legs. 

"When my Daddy and my Master saved me from that brothel, when they *showed* me that they would take care of me, and keep me in just the way I *should* have always dreamt of being kept..." Aramis flushes, and doesn't look at *either* his Master or his Daddy. Not yet. "It was more important — much more important — to make them *happy* than it was to *listen* to their *rules*. Even though I knew I would be punished." 

"Punished how," Porthos says, and narrows his eyes. 

"Ah, well, I do not know. Perhaps I will not get to ride either of my beautiful horses for a time. Perhaps I will have to shovel shit with the other men and boys on punishment here at the garrison. Perhaps I will do chores with the kitchen boys. Perhaps more —"

"The whip?"

"No —" 

And Daddy growls. "No man is *ever* whipped for punishment here."

Porthos tips his chair back forward onto all four legs. "Or at your manor?" 

"The whip," Jason says, "is only for those who desire it." 

Porthos blinks — and looks at Daddy. 

Daddy is staring *hungrily*. 

And Porthos takes a breath. "Aramis said. He said, before, that he reached for... your heart's desire." 

Daddy squeezes his eyes shut — 

"Don't *hide* from this, amant —" 

"Why do you *want* to hide from it, eh? Am I not who you expected?" And there's just a hint of a *waver* in Porthos's voice — 

And Daddy is up and out of his chair just that quickly — 

Around the desk — 

Crouching at Porthos's *feet* — 

"Fuck, you're *quick* —" 

"Come home with me." 

"You don't — what do you *want*?"

"You. I want you. I want you to come home with me and be my son, my other son, and I — I never thought I'd have the *chance*. I thought I'd *lost* my chance, and now — now I... ah, fuck, I used to hold you on my chest while you cried your *lungs* out, I used to — to rumble in my chest in the hopes of calming you down, but really just because holding you made me *happy*. So bloody *happy*. I've missed you so *badly*, and you've grown up so *perfect*, and I — please come home with me. Please be my son. I don't know how to be — correct, or — or proper. I was trying before. I don't know what I bloody looked like. Probably an arsehole. Please come home with me." 

And Porthos is — staring down at his Daddy, wide-eyed and just a little slack-jawed. After a moment, he closes his mouth. 

And licks his lips again. 

"You... you know you don't actually *know* me, right?" 

"Help me know you, son. Help me, and I'll — *we* — will all help you. And — you have Uncles, too. An Aunt —" 

"And a dog," Jason says. 

Daddy gasps a laugh. "You definitely have a dog. The dog I shift into is *desperate* to meet you and climb all over you and hunt with you — have you ever been? Hunting?" 

"Uh. No? I'm a *city* boy —" 

"Would you *like* to learn how to hunt? Use more weapons than the knives and coshes I can tell you use *well*?" 

Porthos's eyes widen even more — 

And Daddy's eyes *gleam*. "I know that look..." 

"I — I'm not — I don't want to hurt people just to *hurt* people —" 

"Then don't. Never do. Hurt people because it's the right thing to do. *When* it's the right thing to do." 

Porthos shudders *hard* — "I... oh." 

Daddy grins. "Will you let me help you with that, son?" 

"It's... what you want?" 

"It's one of the *countless* things I want, son. It's one of the things I used to dream about when you were *howling* to beat the band and your mother was staring at your fat little body like she couldn't believe something so small could make so *much* noise." 

Porthos *snorts* — 

Daddy grins wider, looking young, looking so *happy* — 

Aramis's heart is beating so *fast* —

And his Master is right there to cup the back of his neck — (Look there, mon grand...) 

I — 

(Look...) 

"I uh. I have to tell, you know. I have to tell Yejide what's going on..." 

"But you'll come?"

Porthos bites his lip — and nods —

And Daddy growls and *grips* at Porthos's *chair*, tears rolling freely down his cheeks — and then he turns to grin at *him*, bright and so wide, so grateful, so — "My son. I'll never be able to thank you for this." 

Aramis doesn't know how to tell him that he already did, countless times. 

Daddy makes a low, hurt noise — 

Aramis doesn't know how to tell him that *he* knows that his Daddy will give him everything — 

So much — 

He'll convince Porthos to like hunting — 

"*Oi* —" 

*Shit* — 

"Yeah, you're still plucking on my brain in there, Aramis." 

"I'm — very sorry!" 

His Daddy and his Master laugh hard, and, after a moment, his Daddy stands, and offers Porthos his hand.

"About that, mon grand. Did you plan to *free* Porthos from your dastardly clutches anytime soon?" 

Dastardly — "Master!" 

Porthos snickers and lets Daddy help him up — and then looks Daddy up and down for a moment. There's not much difference in their heights. 

They — 

And Daddy is showing his hunger. 

(I like it when he does. It's better than the other,) Porthos says, clear and strong and *open* in Aramis's mind — and then he *hugs* Daddy — 

Daddy growls and *clutches* Porthos while Aramis is still *reeling* slightly — 

And his Master laughs at him and pulls him close, kissing him hard and hot on his temples. "Our good, brave boy. Don't *ever* do *anything* like this without getting our *guidance* first." 

"But —" 

"*If* you had, we would have commended you on coming up with an idea that we *hadn't*, and we would have watched your *back* and, yes, *guided* you as you contacted Porthos — and you wouldn't still be *tied* to him," Master says, and pulls back, raising an eyebrow. 

Aramis is *helpless* not to think of the other *ways* to be tied to a man — 

Porthos *coughs* — 

And Daddy... colours. 

"Well," Jason says, and claps his hands. "Daylight is wasting, as they say. Shall we?"


	11. Let the punishment fit the crime.

As punishments go, making Aramis stay connected to Porthos until he figures out how to break the bond — safely, and with permission — himself — didn't seem all that severe to *Porthos*, but then...

Well, that was before. 

Before Porthos caught Aramis thinking about his *curls*. Twenty-eight times in the past four *days*. 

Before Porthos caught Aramis thinking about his *shoulders*. 

Before Porthos caught Aramis thinking about his *cock* — 

And he hasn't even *seen* it — 

And Porthos had *really* felt the need to point that out a *few* times, considering — 

And he's going to point it out again, because Aramis is thinking a cock onto him the size of a small cannon. 

Aramis. 

(FUCK.) 

I just — 

(Would you — I just — I can't help it!) 

No, no, I get it, we're both that age, Porthos says, and tries to get comfortable in his overly-soft bed — 

And then Aramis is thinking about a really *gorgeous* curvy blonde *on* Porthos's cock, and *she's* got great curls, and Porthos is about to thank Aramis for that fantasy — 

(Oh GOD.) 

What? What is it?

(THAT IS AUNT MARIE-ANGELIQUE.) 

Uh.

And Porthos gets the sense that Aramis is sprawled out in *his* bed across the hall, but also maybe trying to strangle himself with the sheets. 

Which isn't the best... thing. 

So...

(Please, no, simply let me die.) 

No? No. 

(You are a very cruel young man.) 

Look —

(You would let me die if you cared at all for me.) 

I.

Porthos tries to make that make sense. He — tries. 

He stops trying. All right, look, you want me.

(I cannot strangle myself fast enough for this conversation.) 

Then *stop* strangling yourself!

(... why.) 

Because I like you, too!

(You *like* me. You do not *want* me.) 

Well, we haven't had much time to get to know one another, and also you're fucking your *parents*.

(They are your parents, too —) 

That's not better.

(You are giving me more time to strangle myself. *That's* better.) 

Porthos splutters. Look, can I come over there? Or are you too busy making *disturbing* love to the sheets?

And Aramis is thinking *calculating* thoughts — 

About getting Porthos into his *bed* — 

About being *convincing* — 

Porthos laughs *hard*. 

(Daddy does not care for cruel boys, you know.) 

How does he feel about boys who make time with his — wait, you *are* his son, so I don't really know where I'm going with that. 

(See?) 

Wait, no, I know — 

(Yes?) 

Don't you think Jason and Treville might have something to *say* about you fucking around on them?

(I belong to them —) 

I *know* — 

(But they have been very clear from the beginning that, unless I did not wish it so, my freedom in *this* way was my own.) 

I — oh. 

(Yes.) 

Hunh. 

(If you wish to check with them —) 

No, no, I believe you, Porthos says, and struggles to get comfortable again — 

More — 

Continues to *fail* — 

So far, since he's been here, he's taken his blankets and slept on the *floor* — 

(I understand this thing. The beds are more comfortable with more than one person in them, and *this* time I am truly not just saying that in an attempt to get you to have sex with me.) 

*Really*. I mean — I got that. But — they're more... cozy?

(That, and the other person or people adds *solidity*.) 

Oh, I can see *that*. Now I want to invite the stableboys in — 

(YOU ARE BREAKING MY HEART.) 

JUST TO BE MY BLOODY BED-WEDGES.

(And then they will SEDUCE you with their rough hands and their delicate horsey musk —) 

Uh. Mate. The horsey musk isn't that delicate.

(You don't like the way the horses smell?) 

Well, it's not *bad*. I mean, I grew up in the bloody *Court*. The horses smell *fantastic* compared to *that*.

(But —) 

But *you* like the way the horses smell, Porthos says and grins, folding his arms behind his head. 

(I love everything about horses,) Aramis says, and Porthos can *feel* that shy smile. 

Yeah, eh? Treville says I'm to listen to *everything* you say about 'em. 

(Oh — I — *oh*.) 

Yeah. It's obvious he respects your horsemanship, mate. 

And the fantasy — the loud, bright, *staggering* fantasy — in Aramis's mind... is of Treville giving a taller, broader, hairier Aramis his brassard. 

Porthos grins. I like *that*. 

Aramis sighs. (Perhaps... we will have it together.) 

Porthos shivers. That's a little hard to imagine. 

(Porthos?) 

Is it that much of a surprise? I don't know *any* of this stuff. You already knew how to use *two* of the guns before Treville even knew you existed.

(You *know* many of the men are similarly inexperienced — and you are young —) 

I know, I know. But what *exactly* am I going to do when it turns out that I'm no good at it, eh? No matter how hard I work at it?

And there's another one of those *calculating* moments, only it's a little blank — Aramis is hiding from him a little. 

Better than he *usually* does, anyway, and it's — 

It's not something Porthos can really take right now. Aramis — 

(You are protecting yourself.) 

What — what? 

(You are holding yourself *back* — from all of us — against the 'inevitable' moment when you prove to be a failure and we reject you.) 

Porthos *grunts* — 

It feels like all the *wind* has been knocked out of him — 

He — *Aramis* — 

(Do not bother denying this —) 

I'm not! Why would I? Fuck, of *course* I'm bloody protecting myself — 

(There's no need.) 

*Aramis* — 

(You will always be Daddy's son. You will always be Master's *student* and son —) 

And you? What will I be to you, eh? 

And there's a little silence for a moment —

A dark and *hungry* silence —

And then Porthos is watching himself smiling at Aramis, watching himself cup Aramis's shoulder, watching himself *reassure* Aramis, and laugh with him, and tease him gently, and coax *him* into laughter... 

Porthos — inhales. I like you. I like you a lot. I want — bloody come *here*, or I'll — 

And then Porthos's door is opening, and Aramis is right there in his breeches and — nothing else. 

Damn. 

Like that, it's easy to see all the bruises and bite-marks Jason and Treville have left on him, and that makes it *impossible* not to think of all the things Aramis was doing when he *got* those marks. 

"I am never wearing clothes around you again." 

Porthos snickers and looks *up* — "Would you come *here*? I'm dying to see how this bed can get *comfortable*."

Aramis grins at him, bright and young, and moves close, crawling onto the bed and curling right against him. And then, for all his flirting — "Is this well, Porthos?"

"Mm? It's perfect. I love the feel of you," Porthos says, before he can stop himself. But — it's true. 

And it makes Aramis purr — 

And he likes that, too. 

Loves that. And this could get dangerous quickly — 

Aramis splays a hand on Porthos's belly — covered by a shirt, but — 

"I —" 

"You should not worry so much about failing to live up to the expectations of our parents, Porthos." 

"I. How d'you figure," Porthos says, and frowns. 

"They are not thinking to themselves 'this Porthos, he cannot yet do this, he cannot yet do that, he cannot yet do this other thing.' They are thinking to themselves 'today I have the opportunity to teach my Porthos *this*, and *this*, and *this*. No one has taught him this before, and the knowledge will come fresh from *me*. *I* have this opportunity to shape his mind, and his body —'" 

"Wait, wait." 

"Porthos —" 

"This is what they told you when *you* were — upset." 

"This is what they *showed* me, time and time again. This is what they *proved* to me, time and time again. And what they will prove to you, if you give them a chance." 

Porthos inhales sharply — 

Aramis *strokes* his belly — 

Firmly, *soothingly* — 

He likes that, *too* — 

(I'm glad...)

And for a moment they're just looking at each other from — really close. A part of Porthos is waiting for Aramis to do something, or at least *say* something — but he's not really surprised when all Aramis does is keep rubbing his belly and — looking. 

(You can see inside me, Porthos. What is there to say?)

"I love the way you make me laugh. That's something to say." 

"I —" 

"I love the way you drive me up a tree with the mad things you say. That's something else."

"Oh. Porthos..." 

"I love the way you actually know everything going on at all times, even when it just looks like you're fucking about *being* a madman. I *really* love that."

"Yes?" 

"I love the way you can't actually keep pretending that you're just trying to seduce me for long enough for a roll in the hay. Not even for long enough to get through a sentence sometimes," Porthos says, and catches Aramis's hand on his belly, twines their fingers together — 

Aramis colours *deeply* — 

"I love the way..." And Porthos has to stop, and swallow, and just — "You decided we were brothers on the *first* day. Didn't you." 

"I. I didn't put it into words —" 

"But you did." 

"I couldn't look away from you!" 

Porthos smiles ruefully. "I was a mite distracted, what with all the goings-on. I needed a little time to figure out how beautiful you are," he says, and kisses Aramis — 

And kisses him again — 

And kisses him *hard*, and Aramis *clutches* Porthos's hand — 

Presses close — 

Urges and urges and *opens* for him, and Porthos nods and rolls them into the softness, gives Aramis his weight and more of his tongue — 

Wonders if he should move to that bruised-up throat — 

(Only if you *wish* to!) 

Porthos growls into Aramis's mouth and pulls *back* — 

"Mm — no —" 

"Wanna make you hot, Aramis. *Brother*." 

"HNH — oh — *Oh*." 

And Aramis's eyes are wide and just a little wild — 

Aramis's lips are swollen and *wet* —

Porthos can't keep himself from narrowing his eyes — 

And Aramis is sucking on a *cannon* in his fantasies again. Just — 

Porthos splutters hard. "*Aramis*. You can *feel* it now!" 

Aramis grins. "But you must admit, I do not know, yet, how *much* it grows." 

Porthos snickers. "Oh, yeah, eh? Should I show you, then?" 

"*Please* —" 

"That'll make you hot enough to make noise for me?" 

"I — that is what you wish? A loud lover?" 

Porthos kneels up and gets rid of his shirt — 

Watches Aramis's eyes get *greedy* — 

He reaches — 

And Porthos catches his hands. 

"Porthos!" 

"Shh, I — I want *you*, Aramis. However you come. However you are. But I want to make you *hot*. You have to tell me — or show me — how to do that. All right?"

Aramis licks his lips — and curls his fingers around Porthos's. 

"Yeah?" 

"Daddy likes me... very loud..." 

"But you don't like being loud?" Porthos frowns and leans in — 

"Oh, no, Porthos, no, I *enjoy* being loud. I... I only thought *you* might like something different." 

Porthos's cock *jerks* n his breeches —

"Oh — you like this thing," Aramis says, and smiles. "You like that I wish to please you." 

"Uh. Yeah," Porthos says *stupidly*, and — no. He'll do better. He'll do better, because... he can't help knowing what Aramis wants. 

Aramis has laid him a *trail* — and shown him everything, too. 

Porthos changes his grip to one on Aramis's wrists — 

"Oh —" 

Porthos *squeezes* those wrists *hard* — 

"*Mm* —" 

— and then presses them back down to the bed. "Can you leave them there for me?" 

"Oh, yes!" And Aramis is smiling at him so brightly, so *happily* — 

"You like this," Porthos says, kneeling up again and working on his breeches. He already knows the answer, but — 

"Yes, Porthos! And I like that you are... a young man of experience." 

Porthos laughs and blushes. "*Some* experience, brother —" 

Aramis moans and bucks, cock jerking in *his* breeches — 

And that... is something else that Aramis has told him in a lot of ways. Porthos frees his cock and balls to the sound of a gratifyingly *eager* curse from Aramis, and then just lets his breeches hang. And then he works on Aramis's breeches.

"Please — yes, please —" 

"Shh." 

"Mm — yes, I will be quiet for you now —" 

"No, not that, brother -" 

"*Fuck* — sorry —" 

"Shh. You just have to be able to answer my questions," Porthos says, and ignores the *ache* in his own cock as the scents of Aramis rise all around him —

"Yes —- yes, I am ready — I also have questions of my own —" 

"I'll answer 'em. Later," Porthos says, and urges Aramis to lift up so he can get his breeches down —

"Oh — yes, Porthos!"

Porthos winces with *need* — 

"Yes? You like this? You do not wish something else? Some other... word?" 

And of course Porthos knows what he's asking, but — "That ties in to my first question — brother." 

"Nnh — oh fuck —" 

"You like having a family." 

"A new family! A better — a *true* family!" 

Porthos heats up helplessly for that, leaking and needing — no, focus. Focus. "And Jason and Treville gave you that right from the beginning." 

"And you, Porthos! They give that to you!" 

And then Porthos is thinking about Treville showing him around the manor, showing him everything from the libraries to the linen closets, because, as he said, a young man ought to know his own home —

And then he's thinking about Jason showing him all the *weird* things about the manor and its grounds, all the places where the All-Mother was stronger — just as if Porthos couldn't feel those for himself — and the places *other* things were stronger, because — 

("There isn't much I can teach you about being an earth-mage that mon amant *can't* — I daresay he has a *good* grasp on the fundamentals *and* the specifics at this point — but there is no mage in this world who cannot use at least a *grounding* in other sorts of magery." 

"I — actually already knew that. The second half of it, I mean." 

"Did you..? *Good*.") 

And Jason had grinned at him with that covetous light in his eyes — 

That pleased and *hungry* light — 

"Yes? You see!" 

Porthos shivers and — puts that aside for a moment — 

"No —" 

"Shh," he says, and strokes Aramis's lean chest, strokes all the muscle, massages a little — 

"You — you have such good *hands*." 

"I was cold a lot in the Court. You learn how to stay loose, stay warm," Porthos says, and rubs at Aramis's springy little nipples — 

"Ah —" 

"D'you like that?" 

"Please — please, harder!" 

Porthos gives it to Aramis a little harder, watching and using that *connection* between them to *feel*.

And feeling the *want* in him. All right. 

"I think you want it harder than this, too," Porthos says, and grins. "I think you want me to really *work* you, brother." 

"Fuck — *fuck* —" 

"I *also* think you want me to be your family —" 

"You *are* my family!" And Aramis's expression is — hurt. Bruised. *Wrong*. 

Porthos isn't doing this right — 

Porthos isn't — 

Porthos licks his lips and *doesn't* let himself pull back, even though he feels like an *arse*. He strokes back up to Aramis's wrists and — breathes. "That's — hard." 

"Am I your brother?" 

"Yeah. You are. It's just — the rest —" 

"They will *prove* themselves to you —" 

"That's not the problem. Not really," Porthos says, and smiles ruefully. 

And Aramis blinks rapidly — "You — you wish to prove *yourself* to *them*." 

"Yeah." 

"You wish to find your *place* here —" 

"*Yes*. It's — Treville grins every time I so much as *smile* at him. I barely have to do *anything* with the swords or guns or — anything. Jason makes his lessons so — so bloody *easy* —"

"Porthos. Has it never occurred to you that you are *good* at what you do?" 

Porthos frowns. "I — Aramis —" 

"I will say this another way: The lessons are easy for you because you are a *very* good student with *very* good teachers — the best! *You are already proving yourself*. *Every day*." 

"You don't *know* —" 

"I do. I see by the images in your mind, Porthos, by the way Daddy and Master *look* at you. I know these looks for myself," Aramis says, and raises an eyebrow. 

And Porthos —

He's sweating, panting, wanting and wanting and — 

So bloody *thrilled*, but *wanting* —

Aramis searches him. "What do you want, Porthos? I will *give* —" 

"I want to train *with* you, brother. I want — to reach that point. I want to spend all bloody day with you, and —" 

"You. Would learn from me?" 

Porthos growls. "I'd love it. I'd sodding love it. You're so smart, and anyone with a brain in their heads who looked at you could tell you were skilled at whatever you *wanted* to be skilled at —" 

"Oh, Porthos —" 

"*Brother*." 

"*Please*!"

"Call me brother, Aramis. Let me *be* your brother. Let — let's let *everyone* know it, eh?"

"Oh — *yes*, brother! But..." 

"What? Tell me." 

Aramis flushes and licks his lips. "Oh. Oh. All the time? Not only when we are... together?" 

"I'll think about making love with you — holding you *down* — every time you say it. I'll think about it and get *hard*." 

"Nngh — I *want* that —" 

"Yeah, eh? And want to do something about it?" 

"*Yes*, brother!" 

Porthos growls and starts to *thrust* against Aramis — 

"Ah — *ahn* —" 

"D'you like that? Feeling me fucking your pretty cock?" 

"Pretty — oh, Porthos, oh, *brother* —" 

"*Do* you?" 

"Anything! I want your pleasure!" 

Porthos growls again and thrusts *hard* — 

"*Fuck* —" 

"Nnh — nngh — fuck, Aramis, you answer questions really *sodding* frustratingly — sometimes —" 

Aramis's laugh is obviously helpless — 

So sodding *gorgeous* —

Porthos can't look *away* — "I want that. I want — you have to laugh for me, smile, be *happy* —" 

"*Ohn* —" 

"Let me *see*, brother. Show me how I *get* it," Porthos says, and *drives* against Aramis again, *again* — 

He's so hard — 

His cock is *aching* — 

And Aramis fills Porthos's mind with image after image of Aramis sucking him — 

Of Aramis *working* his head between Porthos's legs - 

Of Aramis — serving — 

"Oh fuck —" 

And Aramis is staring up at him so hungrily — 

"Oh, *shit* —" 

So *hopefully* — 

And Porthos moves and *hauls* Aramis up, hauls him into his lap — 

"Oh, brother, oh, yes, please, *please* —" 

"Suck me, suck me *dry* —" 

And Aramis gulps him in even before he settles himself comfortably on his knees, Aramis — 

His *mouth* — 

Porthos shouts *helplessly* — 

Shoves his hands into Aramis's pretty hair — 

Holds it — 

*Grips* it, and Aramis is nodding, sharing his happiness with that, sharing his *joy* even as he slurps and sucks and *fucks* himself on Porthos's cock —

Porthos's jerking, twitching, *dripping* cock — 

"Brother — fuck, *brother* —" 

(Is it good? Is it just as you like?) 

Porthos groans and tightens his hands more, not wanting to slow Aramis down one little bit, but — 

(Yes, hold me! HOLD ME —) 

Porthos *yanks* Aramis's hair and — 

And works his *head* — 

*Shows* him the rhythm that's always driven him *mad*, and he's pouring sweat, gulping in air and — 

And he can't keep from *thrusting* — 

(Oh, *yes*, brother!) 

"You feel so bloody *good*," Porthos says, and his voice is hoarse, needy, lost — 

He thrusts again — 

Again — 

And Aramis takes his rhythm perfectly, teases him with his tongue, sucks him so — 

So — 

"Aramis — *brother* —" 

(Yes yes yes —) 

"I — 'm going to spend —" 

Aramis sucks *hard* — 

"Ah, *fuck*," Porthos says, and fucks *in*, fucks *hard*, fucks *deep* — 

Aramis swallows him *easily* — 

"*Brother* —" 

Aramis smiles up at him with his — his perfect *eyes* — 

And Porthos *jerks*, goes rigid, groans and whines and bloody *reams* that mouth as everything goes *wild* inside him, as he spends and spends and reams that *throat* — 

(Oh, brother, *yes*!) 

Porthos pants and fucks and fucks and — 

And he can't bloody *stop* — 

For a moment it's almost *frightening* — 

(Daddy is just the same...) 

Porthos grunts and bucks and spends that much *more* — 

His head is full of Aramis's *laughter* — 

He's shaking — 

He's bloody *quivering* — but he's not thrusting anymore. 

And he's breathing — sort of. 

And he can *pet* Aramis — 

(I like this *very* much...) 

*Good*. 'cause I love doing it. I've um. Wanted to. 

(WHY DID YOU NOT SAY —) 

I was busy trying to convince you that my cock wasn't eighteen feet long!

(Hmph.) 

Uh...

(What? What is it?) 

Porthos pulls out *just* enough that Aramis can breathe. He can *feel* that Aramis only *barely* wants that much. 

(Mm. I — but what...?) 

You *are* all right with me having just an average-sized — 

(Porthos.) 

What?

(There is not one thing about you which is 'average'. Please learn this quickly.) 

Porthos blushes — 

Thinks about how much Aramis might *need* him to keep his confidence — 

Thinks about all that time he'd spent working security in *that* brothel...

Aramis's surprise and *interest* are obvious. *Big* in them both. He actually *wants* to pull off, so Porthos lets him, and damn what his cock has to say about it — "I apologize very *much*, brother, but —" 

"You need to know more about the brothel? That makes sense," Porthos says, and rubs and massages at Aramis's scalp a little — 

"Oh — ohn — brother —" 

"Are you *sure* we shouldn't take care of your cock first, though?" 

"Please, I — I want to know everything *about* you!" 

Porthos licks his lips — and kisses Aramis again, just a little careful of that jaw, those swollen lips — 

Aramis shakes his head *hard* — 

"Mm?" 

"Do not be so *delicate* with me, brother! I will not break!" 

Porthos raises his eyebrows. "And you like the pain after getting your mouth fucked good and hard?" 

"There is very little! I am *practiced*." 

And that — is sodding hot. 

"Yes? My brother appreciates my years of hard work...?" 

Porthos — growls. "Your brother appreciates *you*," he says, cupping Aramis's gorgeous face and going in for a *hard* kiss — 

"*Mmmm*..." 

A speaking kiss, a *taking* kiss — 

Aramis nods and hums and moans and — 

Fuck, fuck, makes so much *noise* — 

Porthos *bites* his lips — 

"*Yes*!" 

Porthos licks Aramis's mouth, his lips, his chin — 

"Oh — oh, *brother* —" 

Bites him there, too, and all the way to his ear, where he nibbles and growls and *tugs* — 

Aramis throws his arms around Porthos's neck and climbs right into Porthos's *lap* — 

"*Fuck*, you feel *perfect* —" 

"*You*, my Porthos, my brother —" 

"Yeah, yours, *yours* —" 

Aramis gasps, pulls back to grin at him so *broadly*, so *manically* — 

And Porthos knows he looks just the same. It doesn't feel like they've just met. It feels —

It feels like Aramis has been *inside* him for a good, long while, and Porthos is just waking up to the *possibilities* of that. 

And Aramis is raising an eyebrow at him. He — 

Porthos snorts. "Don't give me that, brother. You spent the first two weeks introducing yourself really *loudly* and *yanking* on me." 

Aramis blushes — 

"Yeah, that —" 

"I was *still* inside you. And. You were inside me."

Porthos — takes a breath. "And that's enough?" 

Aramis cocks his head to the side. "Is it?" 

And considering the fact that all he really wants to do right now is *grip* Aramis and make him talk about everything while also making him *spend* — "Yeah. Yeah, it is." 

Aramis smiles softly. "Good." 

Porthos flushes and just — but *Aramis* had wanted to know things. He jerks his chin at him. "So. What do you want to know first, eh?" 

"Tell me about the brothel you worked in! Your thoughts — you seemed to think it was not like other brothels?" 

"It *wasn't*. Well, no, there are all sorts out there, you know that —" 

"Yes, yes, tell me —" 

"But this one catered to the punters who liked to, you know, *submit*. And *sometimes* to the ones who liked to lord it over people. That's what I was there for, once I got my size." 

"Ohh. But you had a guardian! Did she not object to you working in such a place?" 

"I had *kind* of a guardian, like I said. Yejide was my teacher, and my protector, and — well, she loved my mum, too. I think she would've taken care of me forever if I'd made it *necessary* for her to do it, but she wasn't really..." And Porthos doesn't really have words for Yejide, not good ones, so he just shares what it was like to *know*, from a *really* young age, that the person in charge of taking care of you had no idea what to do with children and didn't really care to know, but was determined to take care of you anyway, determined to make the best and smartest and *strongest* man out of you she could, determined to make you *right* — as she saw it. 

To know that she would work herself to the bone for it, and sacrifice for it, and work *you* hard, too — too hard for play, too hard for friends, too hard for anything but learning and learning and *more* learning. 

And so, one day, when you're big enough to actually earn some money for both of you... 

Aramis inhales sharply and pulls out of the shared not-quite-dream. "She allowed this? Even though it would interfere with her plans?" 

Porthos smiles ruefully. "She said I'd learned faster than she'd expected. She said if I was a good boy and kept working hard I might be able to work longer hours outside the house one day." 

Aramis — stares. 

Porthos snickers hard. "It wasn't — she was pretty hopeless at dealing with other people for a long time. At first, my mum did it for her, acting as a go-between between Yejide and all the people who *needed* a death-mage but were really afraid to talk to one —" 

"*Oh*. She is...?" 

"Yeah. A *strong* one. Anyway. By the time I was seven or so — I'm not too sure, Yejide wasn't big on birthdays — *I* was the go-between. So I *did* actually get to talk to people. All kinds of people. But the *brothel*." 

"Tell me more about everything!" 

And Porthos just — stares for a long moment. 

Feels Aramis. 

Feels Aramis wanting to *know* him — 

"I feel as though I wasted *time*, Porthos!" 

"What? *When*?" 

"I could've been asking you questions instead of — of *yelling* at you —" 

"Well, that would've been more entertaining, true —" 

"Oh, Porthos, brother, please more!" 

Porthos grins. "Anytime. Just — right, then. I found out that the brothel was hiring from one of the clients, who had come to Yejide looking for help with what he thought were some shades lurking around his tenement. They turned out to be just regular ghosts, no real work or money *for* Yejide, but the *job* was real. And because Yejide had always traded her services to people who would train *me* up in fighting, too? I had an in, even though I was still relatively young — maybe fourteen — and not so big as some of the other blokes applying." 

Aramis gives him a *sour* look for that, which is... 

Porthos frowns. "What? What is it?" 

"And you *wonder* why Daddy is so *happy* with you!" 

"Aw, but that's just —" 

Aramis looks at him. 

Porthos... shuts his gob. "Right, all right. The brothel was right at the edge of the Court — but still *in* it — so it was rowdy as hell sometimes. They really did *test* me. Most of what I did was toss out the drunks who got too excitable and forgot what the rules were — and the Madame *hated* serving spirits there, but she had to in order to pull in fresh custom, since there was a *lot* of competition — but there were also some kind of dangerous moments for the women and girls who worked there —" 

"No men or boys?" 

"Not this one, no. The Madame said she used to run a house with both, but it actually pulled in fewer punters, because of —" 

"All the men who did not wish to be seen going into such a place," Aramis says, and nods. "Please go on!" 

Porthos smiles at Aramis and strokes his face. "Was Tristan's your first brothel?" 

"No, I worked at a house with mostly women first. I liked this very much! The older women, they took care of us boys and girls. But, it was like you said," Aramis says, and shrugs. "The owner, he cut his losses and sold all the boys to other houses." 

Porthos winces and nods. "I'm sorry about that, brother." 

"As was I! But... perhaps I would not have met our parents if this had not happened." (Perhaps I would not have met you.) 

Porthos takes in a quick breath and licks his lips. "I. That would've been... too much." 

"'Too much', my Porthos?" And Aramis is toying with the hair at the back of Porthos's neck — 

Tugging the curls out straight and letting them spring back — 

"How too much?" 

"You don't know how hard I worked to find a way to convince Yejide to let me come to you, let me —" Porthos licks his lips again. "You felt... you felt like someone who *needed* me, and I needed that, but that's not it." 

"No?" 

Porthos cups Aramis's hips and squeezes. "You felt like freedom. You felt like a whole new way of doing things. You sounded — like a new *world*. Even though you were just *yelling* at me."

Aramis makes a soft noise. "I want — to be all those things for you." 

"You sodding *are* —" 

"Brother —" 

"Let me touch you. Let me make you spend yourself *mindless* —" 

Aramis moans and shares an image of himself on his back with Porthos *opening* him —

"Oh. Oh, yeah?" 

"Please. *Please* —" 

"You're not too sore from — from our parents?" 

Aramis groans and *lunges* for a kiss, and Porthos had seen that coming, seen that *reward* coming, but it's still sweet, still perfect, still — 

Porthos shoves his hands back in that hair and makes the kiss his, makes it hungry, makes it so *deep* — 

Aramis groans *more* and starts to *shake* — (I am *not* too sore, my Porthos! Open me!) 

They're close enough that the tip of his slick and dripping cock is painting Porthos's belly, and that feels fantastic and wasteful at the same *time*. 

"Mm?" 

Porthos growls and shoves Aramis back down to the bed — 

"*Oh* —" 

And then he grabs the little pot of oil that just *was* in his bedside table when he'd moved in, and that wasn't terrifying, at *all* — 

"It is *convenient* —" 

"That it is," Porthos says, "and I'm *not* complaining, especially since this stuff feels bloody *fantastic*." And he slicks his fingers — 

"Oh — *please*! And do you use it on yourself?" 

"On and *in*, brother," Porthos says, and uses his dry hand to push Aramis's right leg back to his chest — 

"*Oh* —" 

"Heh. Is this all right? Mm?" 

"Yes, please!" 

"D'you like to be teased...?" 

"YOU HAVE TEASED ME FOR DAYS!" 

Porthos splutters —

"*Porthos* —" 

"Here, then, brother," Porthos says, and pushes *right* in with two, nice and steady and not too slow at *all* — 

"Oh, *fuck*!" 

"Oh, you take that so..." Porthos growls and *twists* his fingers* — 

Aramis *yowls* — 

"Shit — fuck. *Brother* —" 

"Again! Please, again!" 

Porthos licks his lips and thrusts *gently* — 

"No — *no* —" 

"Say please again, brother..." 

Aramis *grunts* and stares at him with wide eyes, *hungry* eyes — 

"Say please and see what you *get*," Porthos says, and slows himself right *down*. 

"Please!" 

"Yeah?" 

"Please, Porthos! Please open me, please fuck me *hard*!" 

Porthos keeps up the slow and gentle pace and purses his lips. "That's two different things, brother..." 

Aramis whimpers and *clutches* at the sheets — 

His eyes are *desperate* — 

But the *feel* of him is... thrilled. 

"I think you should be a *touch* more clear with me..." 

"Please — please —" 

Porthos drags his fingers over Aramis's pleasure-button *slowly* — 

Aramis *gasps* — 

"Please what? Hm?" 

"Please tell me about *every* one of your other lovers!" 

"I always thought you had to be a friend before you were a lover," Porthos says, and drags his fingers again — 

"Ahn — " 

Again — 

"*Please* —" 

"Didn't have friends, brother. Not 'til you." 

Aramis clenches *hard* — 

"Oh, *tight* —" Porthos growls. "Did you want me to go even slower, brother?" 

"No! No, please!" 

"Then open *up*," Porthos says, and spreads his two fingers wide — 

Aramis arches and does just that — 

*Sweats* — 

Porthos can see his pulse pounding in his throat — 

Porthos can see his cock twitching and jerking and leaking so *much* — "Good *boy*." 

"*Please*. Please *open* me!" 

"How should I do it, then?"

"Hard! So — so — and fast!" 

"I should be rough with my brother...?" And Porthos speeds up just a *little* — 

Aramis *sobs* — "*Please*, Porthos!" 

He's shaking — 

He's *gripping* at the sheets — and that's when Porthos realizes that he's doing everything in his power to stay still, to behave, to be *good*, and that's everything Porthos can take. 

He thrusts *deep* with his fingers — 

"AHN —" 

He twists, just the way Aramis had liked — 

"Oh, yes, yes — " 

He twists again — 

Aramis *shouts* — 

He plants his free hand on Aramis's chest and *holds* him down, *presses* him down while he shoves *in* with his fingers — 

"Please, yes, please, yes, please —" 

"Tell me you *like* it," Porthos says, and he's sweating, too, hard again, *needy* — 

"I *love* it!" 

"D'you want more?" 

"Not yet!" 

Porthos groans and crooks his fingers, *rewards* Aramis — 

Aramis sobs and throws his *head* back — 

"Good boy, beautiful — here it comes again," he says, crooking and rubbing *hard* — 

Aramis *yells* — 

*Grins* — 

"My Porthos — oh, my Porthos —" 

"Yeah, you like that, you like —" 

"I love it! I love the feel of you!" 

Porthos pants and he — he bloody can't. He can't do anything but *fuck* Aramis, fuck his *brother*, his *friend*, his *lover* — 

Shove his fingers *deep* — 

"Yes! Please, yes!" 

"I love the way you *beg* —" 

"I — I — I will always beg!" 

"For me?" 

"For you! For my brother — oh, yes, oh, yes, please, please rub my — my button, my little button —" 

Porthos grunts and *crooks* — 

"Ohn —" 

And then he rubs hard, so *hard* — 

Aramis shudders and grunts, shakes so hard, so *hard* — 

He's clutching the sheets so — 

His knuckles are *white* — 

And Porthos is sweating like he's *dying* of it. "That's it, that's — it won't be long before you can move..." 

"Yes — yes?" 

"Just. When I'm inside you..." 

Aramis clenches *viciously* tight — 

"*Open*!" 

Aramis sobs and opens *wide* — 

"*Good* boy," Porthos says, and starts to fuck him again, starts to — 

"Please! Please, I am ready for your cock!" 

Porthos shudders and — 

His cock is *spasming* already — 

He won't bloody *last*, but — "*Are* you?" 

"*Please*! Please, I only wanted more of your — your good fingers before —" 

"You can *have* —" 

"I didn't know you were going to *give* me your cock!" 

"Oh, shit, Aramis, I'm bloody *human*," Porthos says, and they're laughing together, panting — 

Porthos can't stop *fucking* Aramis with his fingers — 

Can't — 

He has to *open* him more — 

"You do not!"

"*Aramis* —" 

"Please, brother, *please*! I prefer to be opened with a *cock*!" 

Porthos pants — 

And pants — 

And gives up and *yanks* on his bollocks, because that — 

"My brother — my brother likes —" 

"Quiet now, brother, quiet while I — oh, fuck, you're so *hot*," Porthos says, staring down at Aramis and licking his lips, *stilling* his other fingers — 

Aramis is pressing his *lips* together — 

His eyes are so *wide* — 

He's still holding himself *still* — 

And Porthos winces with *need*. "One question. Facing me or on your *knees*, brother?" 

"What you *wish*!" 

Porthos *growls* — "You know I need a better answer. You *know* I do." 

Aramis groans and clenches around his fingers again — "Yes — *yes* — I'm sorry!" 

"Shh, just tell me. Tell me what makes you hot. What makes you *loud*." 

"Because. That will make my *brother* hot —" 

"That's *right*. Give it to me. Give me all your *secrets*," Porthos says, and crooks again — 

Aramis *whimpers* — 

"Do it. C'mon." 

"Please let me see you! Please let me see your *face*!"

Porthos growls and starts to pull out *immediately* — 

"Ahn —" 

"You've got it, brother. I'm going to spread you right over my *lap* —" 

"Yes, *please*!" 

"Shh, shh, quiet again, be quiet for me —" 

"*Mm*!" 

And those lips are shut tight again, those eyes are *shining* — 

And Porthos isn't *thinking* about the fact that there's a fresh 'rag' next to his bed every morning —

*Is* thinking about the terrifying things Aramis might have to say about it — 

The terrifying things he might have to say about it in order to get Porthos to ask their *parents* about it — 

And those eyes are shining even more. 

That — 

That *connection* between them is full of heat, full of warmth, full of *desire* for them to share everything they're sharing and — fuck, so much *more*. 

"Yeah. Yeah, me, too," Porthos says, and *hauls* Aramis onto his lap — 

"*Mm* —" 

"Shh, now, just — just let me — fuck, your little hole is shining for me, your — " Porthos growls. "Some other time I need you to slick my cock for this, get me ready for you. I'll have you do it slow, like, get me slick and sloppy and just — just guide me *into* you..." 

Aramis's mouth falls open on a soundless gasp — 

"Yeah. Yeah, you like that." And Porthos licks his lips. "Not this time," Porthos says. "I can't wait. I can't wait for your perfect little arse," he says, and slicks himself *thoroughly* — 

Groans — 

*Groans* — 

Aramis *arches* just a *little* — 

"Eager for me. Can't hold still. Oh, brother, you drive me up a sodding *tree*," Porthos says, gripping himself and lining up — 

Making a *point* of staring into Aramis's eyes — 

"Open your mouth again..." 

Aramis does it, just like that. 

Porthos winces and starts to *push* — "You're so bloody *tight*. You're so — *come* on, *now* you can make noise —" 

"Ah —" 

"*Now* you can — can tell me —" 

"I *need* you!" 

"Show me you *want* it!" 

"I love *obeying* you!" 

"Ah — ah, *shit*," Porthos says, and he can't — 

Aramis is *yowling* — 

Porthos had *shoved* in — 

Aramis is drumming his *heels* — 

"Aramis — *Aramis* —" 

"Oh — oh, your thick *cock*!" 

Porthos's cock *spasms* again, only it's deep, buried *deep*, and — 

And Aramis *clenches* — 

Porthos *snarls* — 

"*Yes*, Porthos! Yes, *please*!" 

"Does. Does Treville make that *sound* for you?" 

"All the *time*!" 

"*Shit*, why did I *ask* that —" Porthos growls and *covers* Aramis, pants and stares down at him, pants and groans — 

Growls *more* — 

"He makes that sound, too —" 

Porthos growls harder and *grinds*, helpless and needy and not thinking, not *thinking* — 

Aramis *shouts* — 

Clutches at the *pillows* — 

No, no, Porthos needs — 

"Please take! Please *take* what you need!" 

Porthos *grips* Aramis's wrists and pants in his *face*, forcing himself to be *still* — 

"Please no, please fuck me, please —" 

"Shh. Just. Just one — moment," Porthos says, and growls *again* — 

Aramis moans and *flexes* around him — 

They *both* gasp — 

They — 

"I'm going to fuck you so *hard*, brother, I'm going to —" Porthos *snarls* again — 

Aramis whimpers and *clamps* his legs around Porthos — 

Porthos gasps again and *grunts* — "*Aramis* — " 

"Please — *please*, I cannot wait, I cannot — you're *inside* me!" 

And Porthos is *throbbing* for it, needing — 

*Aching* — 

"I don't bloody care that you have a type," he says, growling again and kissing Aramis *hard* — 

"*Mm* —" 

He pulls back and *shoves* in — 

"Oh, yes!" 

"I don't bloody *care* that I'm — I'm fucking my father's lover," he says, and shoves in *again* — 

"Please — *please* —" 

"That's — that's a lie — oh, fuck, it's hotter, it's *hotter* —" 

And the connection between him and Aramis *sings* — 

The connection between them *burns* — 

Porthos snarls and kisses Aramis again, again — 

Kisses and *fucks* him, fucks him so — 

But he can give Aramis a rhythm, make it hard, make it dirty, make it so — 

Aramis is sobbing into his *mouth* — 

Shuddering so *hard* — 

Porthos pulls back and bites Aramis's pretty throat, pretty bruised-up *throat* — 

"*Porthos*!" 

And it's never been *like* this to have his name shouted in the middle of sex, it's never — 

It's never felt so good — 

It's never meant so *much* — 

Porthos bites *harder*, and now he can't keep himself from fucking Aramis faster, from — 

From *holding* Aramis's throat in his teeth and *having* him — 

"Yes! Oh, *yes*!" 

*Aramis* — 

"*Brother*!" 

And Porthos can't think, can't — 

His rhythm is slipping, juddering, he's — 

He's fucking Aramis so *roughly*, so — 

Porthos snarls and pulls back, rolls them until Aramis is on *top* of him, sinking down on him so perfectly, so — 

Aramis *yowls* again — 

Porthos grips him hard by the hips and makes him *ride*, makes him *take* his thrusts, every — 

Every *buck* — 

Aramis tries to help, tries to *give*, but Porthos can't let him, can't give him that *freedom* — 

"Porthos! I —" He stops trying, he stops — 

He's gasping and *gripping* at Porthos's shoulders, staring down at him with his eyes wide and his body almost *slack* everywhere but his stiff, dark, *dripping* cock — 

"C'mon, *come* on, brother, spend for me, spend all *over* me —" 

And Aramis *shouts* — 

Clenches up *tight* — 

Porthos grunts and *bucks* again, hauls Aramis *down* — 

And Aramis *screams* as he spurts all over them both, as he — 

Fuck, loves to obey, loves to *obey*, and Porthos can't even close his eyes to blink, doesn't want to, doesn't want to miss a *second* — 

He holds Aramis *still*, bruisingly *still*, and he *rams* up into him, in and in, in and *in* — 

And Aramis is groaning, sobbing, *drooling* — 

Swaying and dripping sweat and spend and spit all over — 

Oh, all *over* — 

Porthos *throbs* — 

And then Aramis swipes up some of his own spend and *offers* it to Porthos with his eyes so — 

So *hopeful* — 

Porthos growls and *bites* those fingers, sucks and slurps, lunges to take them deeper, clean them right *off* — 

"Oh... oh, my — my Porthos..." 

Porthos slurps his way off — "More, give me more, let me *taste*," he says, and he's just rutting now, rhythmless and hungry, so — 

"I will *feed* you," Aramis says, and swipes up spend and sucks it into his own mouth — 

Bends down low — 

Gasps and moans and *moans* for Porthos's *needy* fuck — and then moans into his *mouth* — 

Shares the spend in a messy kiss that has Porthos *reeling* — 

Desperate and — 

(But will you taste the spend you leave inside me, my Porthos...?) 

Porthos grunts and *slams* in — 

(Daddy does all the time...) 

And, for a moment, all he can see, all he can *feel*, is Treville making him *watch* while he licks Porthos's spend out of Aramis *himself* — 

(Oh, *Porthos*...) 

Treville's hungry *looks* — 

Jason's knowing *amusement* — 

Porthos can't — 

Can't stop *reaming* Aramis — 

Aramis is licking his *tongue* — 

(My Porthos... anytime you wish,) Aramis says, and Porthos grunts and shoves and shoves and spends himself *snarling* into Aramis's perfect mouth — 

Spends himself fucking into his own — 

His own *mess* — 

He can't let go of Aramis for one *moment* — 

He can't — 

He squeezes Aramis *tighter* — 

Bites Aramis's lip, sucks it, bites it again and spurts *more* — 

*He's* shuddering — 

Shaking like a sodding *leaf* — 

Every *part* of him is on *fire* with how good, how right, how bloody *perfect* — 

Porthos groans and growls and rolls them again when he can. Just — he has to *have* Aramis, has to press him flat to the sheets and *bury* himself in his scents and — 

(Porthos...) 

Mm? 

(Has it occurred to you that you might be a dog like your father?) 

Uh.

(It is just a thought,) Aramis says, wriggling very slightly — 

Wait, are you comfortable — 

(You are *wonderful* on top of me, my Porthos.) 

Are you — 

(If you move, I will stab you.) 

Porthos coughs — 

And Aramis smiles against his cheek — and kisses it. (I did not say what I would stab you with...) 

Oh, *really*. 

(Was that good and distracting, my Porthos?) 

Porthos shifts off Aramis *just* enough that they can both take *slightly* deeper breaths, and — "Yeah, it was, and — uh. Well. I mean, *both* of my parents were shifters, even though my mum didn't *complete* her shift, so it kind of stands to reason that I would be, whenever I finished coming into my magic."

"This is what I thought." 

"I'm um. I'm going to *guess* that it doesn't bother you." 

Aramis looks at him. 

Porthos snickers. "Fine, but *I'm* going to be a bit disturbed if and when I grow a knot, brother." 

"I promise to be helpful with this," Aramis says. *Loftily*. 

Porthos *looks* at him. 

Aramis licks his lips. *Slowly*. 

"s what I *thought*. 

Aramis grins. "I have not had a brother!" 

"I — I haven't had *anybody*, really, and I don't want to badmouth Yejide, but I think I was really *lonely*." 

"Oh, my Porthos..." 

"No, I — I don't want to whine —" 

"You are not —" 

"Not *now* —" 

"Porthos. Did you speak to *all* the customers of your Yejide?" 

"What? Yeah. I had to —" 

"But did you *speak* to them. Try to have *conversations* —" 

"That's — that's just good business —" 

"Was it? For you?" 

Porthos... winces. And slumps a little. 

Aramis nods and strokes Porthos's face. "My Porthos was very lonely." 

Porthos smiles ruefully. "You didn't have so many people of your own, brother. Not until our parents came along." 

"I had no one, not truly. My blood-father sold me to the Church; the Church was full of liars and cowards and brutes and fools. I ran away from the Church and found a little haven at Madame Margaud's; she sold me to Tristan. Tristan's was... bad," Aramis says, and frowns. "Though the bouncer, Hercule, was quite agreeable, and did his best to keep me safe." 

"I like *him*." 

Aramis smiles. "You *will* like him. He visits the garrison, from time to time, to check on me." 

"Oh, *that's* nice. He was a little sweet on you, then?" 

"Perhaps more than I gave him credit for..." Aramis frowns... and then smiles ruefully. "He was... very gentle." 

Porthos nods thoughtfully. "You can't really take that." 

"No, my Porthos." 

"It doesn't... feel real?"

Aramis shivers under him and smiles. "Yes, that is... that is true." 

Porthos licks his lips and nods again. "I always want to be real for you." 

"You can be nothing less. You are *inside* me." 

Porthos grins. "So we're going to keep that, right?" 

"I —" 

"I mean, I could tell when you figured out how to break the link a few days ago —" 

"*Shit* —" 

Porthos grins. "Felt you wanting to *keep* me, I did..." 

"I — I..." 

"Mm? Did you have something to say, brother?" 

Aramis flushes *dark* — 

And Porthos laughs hard, leaning in for a kiss — 

"I... had to see if I *could* keep you," Aramis says, in a small voice. "If I could have you." 

Porthos licks Aramis's mouth. "You can. You always can." 

"Why..." Aramis searches him. "You did not think you *wanted* me." 

"But I knew I wanted to have you in my head, brother. I knew I wanted to, well... have you right there. Right *here*." 

Aramis strokes Porthos's cheeks —

Searches him *more* — 

"I will never leave," he says, quietly. 

Porthos leans in and nuzzles Aramis. "And I'll be right here for you." 

"For me? Or for our family?"

Porthos laughs and kisses Aramis again — 

Again and again — 

And then he pulls back and smiles. "I guess I can see about getting those blood-connections made..." 

Aramis *grins* — 

"I love making you *do* that," Porthos says, and kisses Aramis again — 

"My Porthos — mm — I promise that I will always make it very easy for you."


	12. They wanna make 'em stay up all night.

Treville shifts back into human-form *as* he walks out of Jason's smudge and into his bedroom suite — 

It will *always* be easier to travel between the spheres in dog-form, but the dog had done much of the battling at Jason's side these past few days, and desperately needs a rest — 

"You rather do, as well, amant," Jason says, and looks down at himself with a critical frown. "As does this mail." 

Treville grins. "And the sword?" 

"I'm still angry at the mage in the sword. She can *suffer*." 

Treville snickers and gives himself a good shake, then starts to strip down. Jason had walked them both through an eldritch blaze — bathing can wait until tomorrow. 

"I..." 

"Mm?" Treville looks up from setting his — thoroughly scored; Jason will need to repair it a *bit* before he reports for duty — brassard aside. 

Jason is grinning like a wolf. "Open your senses, amant." 

"What...?" But Treville is already doing it, of course, and wondering what exactly his retainers have been *up* to in his absence, and whether there'll be any new children — oh. 

Aramis's heartbeat has the slow steadiness of sleep. 

So does Porthos's. 

It's just that they're very, *very* close together. 

"Right on *top* of each other, I'd say," Jason says, and hums. 

And *glitters* at him. 

And — 

"What day is it?" 

"The twenty-second." 

"Damn it. I could've *sworn* Porthos would hold out until at least the twenty-fourth." 

Jason smirks. "You owe me another mission, amant..." 

Treville gives him a sour look. 

"If you pout about it, I'll *tell* our Aramis that you bet against his wiles —" 

"Oh fuck —" 

Jason laughs hard and pulls Treville in for a long kiss — 

Treville licks his smoky mouth, his smoky cheek, his smoky *throat* — 

"Mm — yes, I — mm — I *concur*, but —" 

"We also have to go traumatize them?" 

Jason pulls back and grins, tossing his long hair, dropping his mail, leaving the wool — "*Absolutely*." 

"It *is* nearly dawn..." 

"Let's go wake them *up*," Jason says, rubbing his hands together with actual *glee*, and — 

And Treville just has to savour it for a moment, just has to take it *in* — 

For a little too long — Jason's expression softens. 

Treville smiles ruefully. "I'm still not accustomed to seeing you *truly* happy, lover." 

Jason strokes over Treville's beard. "*Perhaps* that has something to do with the fact that I hadn't seen *you* truly happy, amant." 

And that — "I was happy with *you* —" 

Jason presses two long fingers to Treville's lips. "You needed your *other* son. Your *first* son. Enough that your *second* son began plotting and scheming to *get* him for you *immediately*. Which is something I agreed with wholeheartedly..."

Treville tugs Jason's fingers away. "Hence a 'punishment' that would lead to him having *exactly* what *he* wanted." 

Jason grins. "Well. He also suffered rather pretty embarrassments along the way, you must admit." 

Treville laughs. "Do you think he actually *told* Porthos at any point that he was giving him *my* cock without the knot?" 

"Oh, I certainly hope so. Let's *go*."

They absolutely do.

And — 

Porthos is a surprisingly heavy sleeper for someone raised in the Court of Miracles. 

(I'd say so. Though Aramis may have simply sapped him,) Jason says with fulsome pride. 

They may be looming over the bed a bit. 

(A bit —) 

I used to do this when my Amina-love was dozing with Porthos on her chest. 

(She put up with that?) 

No. Threw the bassinet at me once — 

Jason swallows a cough — 

Usually it was just shoes. Usually. 

(Arse.) 

Yours — 

(You'd think *Aramis* would wake up. *He* can hear us.) 

Well, Porthos is, technically, cutting off most of his air with that hug, lover. 

(That is not a hug, amant.) 

I — 

(Nothing that involves quite that many limbs can be called simply a *hug*.) 

Treville sighs. Passionate boy. 

(I really don't see why you thought he *would* hold out, amant.) 

He needed time to get *used* to things. 

(No, he didn't.) 

You never think *anyone* needs time — 

(That's not true. I never think anyone worth *my* time needs time.) 

Treville strangles on a laugh — 

Aramis frowns and — tries to shift in his sleep. 

And then opens his eyes. 

And then *obviously* sees the shadows looming over him — 

And then equally obviously tries to reach for the blades he keeps under his pillows — 

Treville snorts and puts a blade in Aramis's — imprisoned — right hand. "There you are, son." 

"Yee — Daddy!" 

"Wha —" 

And it's absolutely *fascinating* to note that Porthos's *first* instinct is to hold Aramis *tighter* — 

"Nrk —" 

And Jason laughs softly. "Good *morning*." 

"*Fuck*. 's *morning*?" And Porthos *picks Aramis up* with him as he sits up — 

"*Porthos*!" 

"Mm? Oh." And Porthos kisses Aramis *soundly*. 

"*Mm* —" 

"G'morning, brother," Porthos says, and smiles with sleepy looseness. "Why are you armed?" 

Aramis stares at Porthos with abject stupidity. 

(Admit it, you're tempted to quiz them on *tactics* now.) 

Like you aren't tempted to quiz them on magical *theory*. 

Jason and Treville sigh together. (Two minutes?) 

Three, Treville says, and leans in a little. "He's armed because he always feels better when he can get to a bladed weapon of a morning." 

Porthos blinks — and nods. "That makes sense. Thanks... um. Daddy?"

(Aramis's expression of abject stupidity really is *quite* like your own, amant.) 

...

"I mean, um. Aramis and I were talking... about the family, I mean," Porthos says, and blushes, and looks to Jason. "What do *you* like to be called? Since uh. I don't see me calling you Master, and — and I want to show you *respect*. I mean, you're both my *parents* now. And that's... so good." 

(...) 

Your look of abject stupidity is as beautiful and unique as everything else about you, lover. 

(Shut it —) "I... I've never felt disrespected in the *least* by your use of my given name, Porthos." 

"*Good*, but what do you *prefer*?" 

Now I wish I'd bathed, Treville says.

(No, you *don't*, because then you'd be tempted to crawl *in* with them —) 

More tempted. 

(*More* tempted —) 

And Aramis is laughing — evilly. 

Because of course he can hear every word. Of *course*. 

And Porthos *knows* he can. He takes one look at Aramis — and then gives *them* a skeptical look. "Are you two all right?"

"We —" 

"They are *well*, my Porthos," Aramis says, and settles himself more comfortably in Porthos's arms. "They are simply stunned by your heartfelt declarations, and... flailing," Aramis says, and *grins* evilly. 

Treville smiles at him with helpless love and pride. "You're a little bastard, son." 

"I thank you!"

Treville turns back to Porthos. "Call us whatever makes *you* most comfortable, son. I... *please* do that. Do *exactly* that and nothing else, because anything else would be terrible for all of us." 

"*Yes*," Jason says, and takes an obviously much-needed breath. "Yes, precisely that." 

Porthos studies them both for a long moment — 

Kisses Aramis's temples almost idly — 

And then he nods. "Then... I want to get used to calling you Daddy, Daddy." 

"You — you — anything you want," Treville says, and knows he looks too bloody *hungry* — 

(He likes that, Daddy...) 

Treville grunts and *blinks* — 

(He told me that on the *first* day, Daddy... and he has since... elaborated,) Aramis says, and tucks his cheek against Porthos's — 

Smiles *promisingly* —

Treville *stares* —

Jason laughs *hard* — 

"Right, *what* do I like, though, brother? You know I can only hear half of that conversation," Porthos says. 

"Let us *fix* this thing," Aramis says, pulling the blade and pressing it to Porthos's arm with a question in his eyes. 

"Yeah, fuck, absolutely, *do* it," Porthos says — 

Aramis slashes neatly and *well* — 

Treville keeps the cut from bleeding *reflexively* — and reaches. The way he hasn't. The way he hasn't *allowed* himself to do. For a moment nothing happens, and he doesn't understand — 

"Well? What are you both waiting for?" 

"Give your Daddy a moment," Jason says, and turns to him. "You built a *wall*, amant. You have to destroy it." 

And that — 

*That* — he can feel it now. The wall he built in his own *soul* to keep himself from reaching for his son, to keep himself from *taking* too *much* — 

He destroys it with malice aforethought, casting away every trace of it and *then* reaching — 

Porthos *jerks* — 

Aramis blinks — 

Son...

(What — you — you didn't *need* my blood? You didn't need... but. You already had it. You — before I was even *born*.) 

That's right, son. I just.... needed to give you your privacy. 

Porthos stares at him *wonderingly* —

Treville smiles at him ruefully. "You can always have that from me. Whenever you need it." 

"And... when I need something else?" 

"Like the hunger of mine Aramis and I were talking about, son...?" 

Porthos licks his lips. "Yeah..." 

Treville swallows. "That's always yours." 

"I'm um. Going to want to talk to you about that." 

"Anytime, son."

Porthos *bites* his lip — and then he grins and nods. And offers his arm to Jason. "Unless *you* don't really need it, either?" 

"Oh, I do, Porthos. I need it more..." Jason shakes his head and smiles at him so *softly*. "I *must* warn you that you will share in my corruption, Porthos." 

"I know. I learned about this kind of thing *before* we met." 

"What you might not have realized is that, whenever you choose to commune with the All-Mother, and whenever *She* chooses to cleanse you...?" And Jason raises an eyebrow. 

Porthos blinks. "I'll have to do this all over again." 

Treville smiles wryly. "I had to bargain with her to be allowed to *not* be cleansed of Jason's corruption every time I communed with Her, son. She may choose not to allow it with you." 

Porthos nods thoughtfully. "I'll talk to Her about it," he says, and offers his arm again. "If I have to do it again and again, then I will." 

Treville grins. "My boy..."

Jason licks his lips — "You may change your mind at any —" 

"Jason," Porthos says, and smiles gently. "Aramis didn't say it *loudly*, but um. He was right all along that I've needed a family, and that this is a *good* one." 

Jason *growls* — and drops into a crouch next to the bed. "You'll never be lonely with us. You'll never — you'll never be *alone*," he says, and *grips* Porthos's arm — 

Porthos *gasps* — 

Obviously struggles not to jerk away — 

And Jason's mouth is on the wound, Jason doesn't wait for *Treville* to release the blood, breaking the preservation spell himself — 

(I *need* —) 

Jason *drinks* — 

"Fuck — fuck, that feels —" 

"Just wait, my Porthos. The strangeness *will* not last," Aramis says, and squeezes Porthos tight. 

And Treville... lets himself. 

Lets himself cup Porthos's strong shoulder — 

Porthos looks up with a *grateful* smile before turning back to Jason. "'s all right, Jason. It feels — nnh. It feels fine, now. Take as much as you need —" 

And Jason laughs *brightly* inside *all* of them — (Perhaps not *quite* that much...) 

Porthos blinks — "What? No —" 

And then Jason licks the wound closed — 

Pulls back with a *pant* — 

And reaches out — 

Aramis slashes *his* arm. 

"Thank you *very* much, mon grand," Jason says, licking his lips and *blazing* at Porthos as he offers his arm. "*Take*." 

Porthos *grunts* — and bends his head. 

Jason cups the back of Porthos's head and lets his eyes flutter closed — and *floods* them all with the pain he'd felt for the years of being unable to give Treville his child — 

The years of *failure* — 

The years of *knowing* there was a hole in the heart of the man he loved more than anyone or anything in all the spheres, a hole he could never fill, a hole he could never *approach* — 

And then there was Aramis, their bright and beautiful boy, their mad and lovely *surprise*. 

The happiness of him made everything *better*, the happiness of having a student, a protege, a new lover, a *child* — and a child for his aching and ever-*lonely* lover, too. 

And then, of *course*, Aramis had *given* them both Porthos, and this... 

Jason floods them with his sense of hope and his sense of fear, his *waiting* for the inevitable to happen — or something *like* the inevitable. For the spheres to laugh at them all, and give them his lover's long-lost child only for that child to prove... unworthy. 

A prize for *fools*. 

Instead, they had both been given *another* student, *another* protege, another *love*. 

Another *child*, and Jason had never thought he would ever *have* — 

Jason had never *imagined* — 

Not truly — 

And so, what he's left with *now* is a need, a *hunger*, that is making him *ache* to *drive* his fingers into these wonderful curls and *grip* — 

(Hold you *closer*, Porthos...)

(I —) 

(Make you take *all* of me... before I take every *drop* of you.)

And then the flood — eases. 

Eases *slowly* even as Porthos moans and suckles at the wound on Jason's forearm — 

Jason is *petting* Porthos with a shaking *hand* — 

Jason is cupping the back of his *neck* — and tugging Porthos back and away. 

Porthos looks up with dazed eyes, a wet and reddened mouth — "I — Jason, I —" 

Jason kisses him softly and stands, closing the wound with an easy pass. "I am a greedy man, Porthos." 

Porthos moans again — and grunts *loudly* when Aramis slips his hand down around his thick and hardening cock. 

Treville tries very, very hard not to — no. He lets himself look *precisely* as hungry as he is. 

As everyone in this room *knows* he is. 

Porthos shivers and licks his blood-streaked lips and nods. "I could always tell when you were *hiding* the hunger, Daddy. It was — it was better when you showed it." 

Treville rumbles. "Because it was honest, son?" 

"That and it *felt* right. Felt... the way it was supposed to feel."

Jason raises an eyebrow. "Your Daddy is supposed to be hungry for you, Porthos?"

"Our Daddy is the hungriest of *men*," Aramis says, and starts to *stroke* Porthos's cock. "What could be more correct than this?" 

Porthos shivers and moans. "Yeah," he says, and grins. "*That*." 

"My Porthos..." And Aramis takes little kitten-licks at Porthos's cheek. "I have a very important question..." 

Porthos takes a shuddering breath — and looks down. His scents are a little jagged — "I need — I need more talking first. And I can't get that now."

A part of Treville wants to say, again, that Porthos can have the talking at *any* time — but that part is a manipulative pillock who is busily replacing Aramis's hand on Porthos's cock with his own. 

(Right, yes, we're *parents* now, and we don't *do* that —) 

Aramis giggles like a child — 

And Porthos *snorts* and looks up again. "I like that. I like that neither of you pretend to be what you're not." 

Jason smiles wryly. "We do *try* to avoid it." 

"That we do, son. Having Jason to smack me out of it on a regular basis helps *immensely*," Treville says, and breathes deeply — Porthos's scents are getting calmer again. 

"I'm good, Daddy —" 

Jason raises an eyebrow at Porthos. 

Porthos snorts again. "I'll *be* good, Jason." 

Jason and Treville nod. "In that case, Porthos, mon grand, we will leave you both to get ready for the day." Jason grins. "Just *this* once, we'll leave it up to you to decide how long that should take." 

Aramis kisses Porthos's blushing cheek. "Thank you *very* much, my Master." 

"Yeah, really —" 

Treville rumbles a laugh. "I'm going to be sleeping for most of the morning — probably — so consider yourselves under Jason's charge when you're not working together on Porthos's horsemanship." 

"Oh — fuck, yes!" 

"Thank you, Daddy!" 

"Wanted to train together, did you?" 

And Aramis and Porthos share a *thrilled* look that, for a moment, is purely boyish... and then turns into something warm and loving and all-*encompassing*." 

"I believe we have an answer to that, amant." 

"I believe you're right, lover. C'mon, time to put the dog to bed before I get any more excitable." 

"... remind me what my motivation is for that, again?" 

And Treville is laughing as he walks out of Porthos's bedroom — 

As he catches, out of the corner of his eye, Aramis slipping Treville's own blade under Porthos's pillow — 

As he catches Aramis licking Jason's blood out of Porthos's *mouth* — 

He closes the door behind him. 

And realizes that he's as happy as he's ever, ever been. 

end.

**Author's Note:**

> Waking with Russell  
> Whatever the difference is, it all began  
> the day we woke up face-to-face like lovers  
> and his four-day-old smile dawned on him again,  
> possessed him, till it would not fall or waver;  
> and I pitched back not my old hard-pressed grin  
> but his own smile, or one I'd rediscovered.  
> Dear son, I was _mezzo del cammin_  
>  and the true path was as lost to me as ever  
> when you cut in front and lit it as you ran.  
> See how the true gift never leaves the giver:  
> returned and redelivered, it rolled on  
> until the smile poured through us like a river.  
> How fine, I thought, this waking amongst men!  
> I kissed your mouth and pledged myself forever.  
> \-- Don Paterson


End file.
